


Gents & Dames

by studentnumber24601 (queenitsy)



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: 1910s, Bets, Crossdressing, M/M, Post-Betrayal, Post-Canon, fusion crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-01
Updated: 2008-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-07 06:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 49,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenitsy/pseuds/studentnumber24601
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gambling, debt, police officers, strippers, pinstriped suits, and fedoras. The year is 1911, and Racetrack needs to find somewhere to host his big game. Events, however, are determined to conspire against him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fugue for Tin Horns

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written between January 2007 and July 2008. A Guys &amp; Dolls fusion, but it doesn't stick to the G&amp;D source at all rigidly.

Despite the drizzly day, Sheepshead Bay was crowded. Even down at the fence, people were crowded against the three gentlemen. These three didn't notice, though; this was where they were comfortable. They threw nods at the walkers who warmed up and cooled down horses along the track; the vendors gave them free lunches. The newsboys who picked their way through the crowds hawking headlines were especially fond of the gentlementhey always bought papers and always tipped well.

Their own mildly sordid pasts as newsboys might have affected that, though.

"My money's on Paul Revere," commented the one at the left. His skin was an oatmealy shade of brown and dark curls spilled out from under his fedora. He nodded at the horse being warmed up in front of them. "I got a pretty good tip; says he's recovered from that foot thing. He's gonna win it. You'll see."

"Says you," answered the gentleman on the right. Unlike his companions, he hadn't grown up in New York; a slight southern drawl was clear in his voice. "Not what the paper says, though." He glanced down at his paper again, hunching over it, trying to protect it from the occasional spatter of rain. "Right here. May 20, 1911, a day at the races. Paul Revere, favored at the beginning of the season, not so ready to race again?"

"Yeah, who cares what the pape says? It also says it's sunny today, shows what the pape knows," said the one in the middle. The others fell quiet; despite his diminutive stature, this was, sort of, their leader. Definitely the brains of the operation.

"Well, me, I'd put dough on Valentine," the second continued. "Pape says he's got good odds."

"Again, who gives a half a damn what the pape says? You ain't got no horse sense, Ben."

"It ain't just the pape, Nate. The jockey's a friend of a friend. I know his brother, right? He's got it made. I'm sure."

"So put your money where your mouth is." Then the middle one, Nathan, smirked. "Wait, that's rightyou ain't got none."

"You _neither_," the first one said.

"Shut it, Nicky." But Nathan said it fondly. The two of them went way back. "'Sides, I told youI put the word out. Invited the fellas back to the city for a visitand a game. I heard back from a few, too."

"Yeah?" Nick asked eagerly. "Who?"

"Skittery was first, he's just in Boston, can make it no problem. But he passed on the word. He's got Pie comin' up from Florida. An' word on the street, Spot's on his way from Chicago."

Ben let out a slight laugh. "I ain't heard names like that in years," he said. "An' I finally get to meet the _infamous_ striking newsies from New York."

"Speakin' of which." Nathan checked his watch. "I'm supposed to go see Adelaide; you know what happens if I'm late..."

"An' I know who wears the pants in that relationship," Nick answered.

"Shut it. You don't argue with Adelaide any more than I do," Nathan snapped. "Anyway, boysyou've got a lunch meeting. Tell Davey I say hi, and see what you can do about him sneakin' us in."

"Yeah, we know what to do," Nick said confidently.

"Just keep pressin' him, Nick. You know Davemaybe he don't gamble much, but he's a sucker."

"I know, I know."

"An' tell him I'll look out for Les an' Ari."

"I'll tell 'im."

"Don't let up on him, Nicky, I'm serious!" Nathan continued as they wound their way through the crowd. "I'm out of places to hold the game, an' with the guys coming to town...you want to see 'em too, don't you?"

"You _know_ I do, Racetrack." Nick said it with a grin, falling back on their childhood nicknames. Nathan met his grin with a bemused smile.

*

One thing that hadn't been around when Nickthen known as Mushwas a newsboy was the subway. It had opened a few years after he'd stopped selling papers and moved out of he lodging house. He'd gotten a job in a factory, real back breaking, grueling work. He'd hated every moment of it.

But somehow, three years later, Racetracknow going by his real name, Nathanhad appeared at his doorstep and offered him a job. It was in a ramshackle theater all the way at the end of town; he couldn't see how anyone had ever heard of it, let alone how it turned a profit. Then he'd seen a show, and he understood. The theater didn't want to draw attention to itself; it had a very small, very select audience.

His job was mostly to do whatever was needed: handiwork, selling tickets, security, and following the whims of the theater's star, Adelaide. Which he didn't mind so much, not really, since it beat breaking his back in the factory, and the pay, while not great, was at least regular.

Nick Meyers was pretty easily content, especially when Nathan had told him he could offer a job to his best friend from the factory, a slightly younger worker named Ben. Ben had been a newsie too (he said his nickname had been Tag), but down south. Now they worked at the theater together, doing everything from running Nathan's errands (like this, a lunch date with an old friend) to keeping watch for the cops.

"So what's the big deal about guys coming back to town?" Ben asked, as they made their way out of the gritty subway tunnel and onto the western edge of Central Park. "They all gamblers, or what?"

"Yeah, most of 'em." Nick shrugged. All the newsies had learned to play a few games when they were still kids, though they only bet pennies. As they'd grown up and moved away, only a few of them were really good at it, like Nathan was. But they'd all kept in touch, and they all still knew how to play. "It ain't about the money, though," Nick added.

Ben guffawed. "Yeah, right; for Nathan, everything's about the money."

"Not this."

"Really?" Ben sounded skeptical.

Nick sighed. "Look, you said yourselfwe were the newsies who went on strike. It was a long time ago, but...you go through that, you want to keep track of each other. We was close."

"So what happened? Why did all your friends split town, then, if you was so close?"

For just a second, Nick actually looked angry. What he finally said was, "Jack Kelly."

"I don't suppose you're gonna tell me what that means, this time?" Ben asked.

"I don't talk about Jack," Nick answered. "None of us do. An' whatever you do, don't bring him up in front of Dave."

Ben nodded. He didn't know much about Jack Kelly, except that he'd been the strike leaderand that he'd done something that had made every former-friend he had in New York very mad at him. Especially David Jacobs.

They approached Fifth Ave and the site where the library would be opening in just a few days, and sure enough, David was waiting for them outside, holding a newspaper over his head to protect from the sputtering rain. "Nice umbrella, Dave," Nick greeted him.

"Hey, guys," David said amicably. "Shouldn't you be at work? I thought Adelaide had a new number opening tomorrow."

"Yeah, she does," Ben said. "Nathan's taking care of the dress rehearsal, though..." He shot a sideways look at Nick as they started walking towards the diner where they routinely ate early dinners before heading to the theater. He cleared his throat. "Though he really wishes he had time to get the game ready."

"The game." David rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't even mind, you guys, but Les has got Ari playing. Ari doesn't have the money to spare." He sighed. His younger brother and his soon-to-be-brother-in-law were regulars at Nathan's games, though they rarely had much cash. "I swear, Les lost his whole month's pay a couple weeks ago."

"Yeah," Ben said. "That was a bad night for a lot of us. I only just got back on my feet."

"Maybe you should stop gambling your salary away," David said.

"Prob'ly." Ben smiled.

"I'm lookin' forward to losing it all in a couple of days, though," Nick said. "I mean, everyone's gonna be there."

"Everyone?" David raised an eyebrow. "The usual crowd?"

"Nope." Nick grinned. Time to let it not-so-casually slip. "Nathan said something like he got the word out to our old friends. Skitts and Spot and Swifty are gonna be there for sure...Maybe Pie, maybe Snoddy...Prob'ly Dutchy."

David stared. "Are you _serious_?"

"Sure am. They start getting to town tomorrow, some of 'em, for Adelaide's big opening. Nathan didn't want to get no one's hopes up, in case it didn't work out, but he's been schemin' this for months."

"Wow." David grinned a little himself.

"You should drop by. Even if you don't gamble, you should drop in and see the guys."

"I will." David nodded. "Where is it?"

Ben cleared his throat. "Actually...we were hoping you could help us with that," he said. "'Cause...well, you got a key to the library, right? An' it's not open yet, right?"

"So?" David asked warily.

"So...well, we...Mostly Nathan...figured, all the building is done now, it's just getting ready to open, right? So we was wondering if maybe you couldn't...sneak us in?"

"_What_?"

"Well," Nick said quickly, "we was thinkingyou got all that space in there. There won't be that many of us. It's more a, a reunion than a game, right? So we'd sneak in...play awhile, shoot the breeze for awhile...and sneak out. Wouldn't touch nothin'!"

"You guys really thought I'd do that?" David demanded. "Let a bunch of...of grown hooligans into the new library?"

"But Dave, we don't got nowhere else to play!" Ben said. "An' if there's nowhere to play, the guys ain't gonna be together, an'..."

"You don't care about that," David said. "You've never even met them."

"But I want to!" Ben protested. "I heard all these stories about 'em, for years now. An' I want to meet 'em at last..."

"No."

"But Dave"

"No."

"Mouth, please"

"Don't _call_ me that," David snapped. "I'm not a newsboy any more; I don't want to pretend I am."

His voice was harsh; it was clear the conversation was over. Nick wasn't surprised, though. David was kind of in charge of the library openinghe was even picked to be the main speaker at its dedication ceremonyand it was highly unlikely to begin with. And he didn't even like to reminisce like the rest of them did. But Mush understood that. Jack had hurt all of them, but he'd hurt David worst, and now virtually every memory David had of those days was...tainted.

"Well," Nick said, "we'll tell Nathan we tried. I'm sure he'll find somewhere else for the game... An' he'll invite you, even if you weren't helpful when he needed it."

"Yeah," David muttered. "Nathan's just a great guy like that."

Nick sighed. "Those days weren't all bad, Dave," he murmured, following his own thoughts. "You didn't think so back then."

"I don't want to hear it, Nicky."

So Nick shrugged. He'd expected that. David hated Jack, Nathan hated Jack...even Nick himself did, sometimes. But sometimes, he also wondered where the hell Jack Kelly was, and what he'd made of himself. And when he was feeling particularly kind-hearted, Nick wondered if he'd ever see Jack Kelly again.


	2. Follow the Fold

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Nick, David, and Ben glanced up from their smalltalk to see an all too familiar policeman looming at the edge of their table.

"Good afternoon, Officer Brannigan," Nick said politely. "I do hope things are going nicely for you."

Officer Brannigan rarely appreciated Nick's attempts at politeness, and this was no exception. "So here we have two flunkies, gamblers and hooligans to the core...having dinner with a respectable scholar?" He raised an eyebrow. "Interesting company you keep, Mr. Jacobs."

"That's one word for them," David answered.

"Perhaps you should consider taking dinner with a more respectable crowd. Next thing you know, these two will have you up at that crooked theater of theirs."

"That what?" Ben asked cheerfully.

"Don't think I don't know what goes on in that place," Brannigan snapped.

"Then why didn't the convictions stick?" Ben asked. Nick kicked him under the table.

"I've got my eye on you," Brannigan said darkly. "All _three_ of you." He turned and stalked off.

"We do not mean to get you in trouble by association with our small group," Nick said sincerely.

David shrugged. "Brannigan's been on my case for awhile anyway. You should have seen the fit he threw when they wanted me to speak at the library dedication. He called me a deviant."

"You?" Ben sounded surprised. "You're a fine, upstanding gentleman, was always my impression."

"Yours, and the Library Committee's," David said. "But according to Officer Brannigan, upstanding gentlemen don't frequent the Hotbox."

Nick considered it. "You know, David, he just might have a point."

*

David still lived with his parents, though it was now more on his own terms. Specifically, it was in his own apartment: his city worker salary was enough to afford something nicer than a tenement, and he certainly didn't want his parents to stay in such a miserable place. So now they lived in a modest but clean, safe apartmentDavid, his parents, and Sarah.

But of course, Sarah was moving out soon. Her belongings were already being boxed up, her clothes put in trunks. She was finally getting married in a few days, the day the library opened, in fact. Then she and Ari, her soon to be husband, would be off in his place. David wasn't yet sure if he'd miss her or nothe'd missed Les after he moved out to his own place with his wife, but had gotten used to it fairly quickly.

And in a few days time, he'd be the only one of the Jacobs children who was unmarried. He mused over that fact as he hung up his jacket and loosened his tie. Before she met Ari, Sarah had all but resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood; at almost thirty, she was the only one of her friends who was unwed. Les had married at twenty.

So David would be the child who stayed with his parents and took care of them, on his own. He sighed. It wasn't that he minded, precisely; he loved his parents, and was glad he could care for them. And Sarah and Les weren't far awaythey'd still be there to help.

David shook his head a little, and stopped to open a bottle of wine. He poured himself a glass and walked over to the window. A thick curtain hung over it, keeping out the city lights. David slept in the living room, to give his parents the privacy of the main bedroom, and Sarah her privacy as well. Though he had to admit he was looking forward to moving into her room, after she moved out.

It had taken her a long time, but Sarah had always wanted to be married, like just about everyone else seemed to. But somehow, David never had even thought seriously about it. It wasn't that he didn't know women; he'd met enough of them through the Library Committee. Younger ones who had enough time on their hands to volunteer with the library, and older ones who wanted to make some sort of social difference, and who had young, unwed daughters.

It wasn't that David didn't _know_ women. He just hadn't met a woman who made him feel...Well.

He didn't know what love felt like; so far as he knew, he'd never experienced it. He'd come close once, but that hadn't worked out. There was no way it could have.

David downed the glass of wine. He didn't like to think about that, about what it meant about him that he'd only ever come close to love once, and it hadn't been close to normal. And that, for all Nick made jokes and he had Officer Brannigan breathing down his neck, he spent a few evenings a week watching Adelaide at the Hotbox.

Caring for his parents was as good an excuse as anything else for never getting married. He sat down in an easy chair, shut his eyes, felt the taste of wine still in his mouth, and thought about the guys coming back to town to visit. And tried not to think about how, no matter how many of the old gang showed up, it would never feel complete.

And as he drifted off, he tried very hard not to remember.

*

The sound of the door shutting woke David. He blinked, opened his eyes, and glanced around. Sarah was standing just inside the doorframe, smiling to herself.

"You were out late," he noted.

"You're home early," she answered.

"Good point." He sighed. "Ari is aware you aren't married yet, isn't he?"

"We're close enough." Sarah raised an eyebrow. "I'm going on thirty, David; I'm not worried about my reputation anymore. It's _yours_ people chat about now."

"Don't remind me." He groaned. "Would you believe I've got a police officer who knows me on sight?"

Sarah laughed. "You've always had that side to you, Dave." She walked to the window and pushed aside the curtains, then took a long look out at the city beyond their window. "I know you've tried to bury it under the fancy university degree and the respectable job, but honestly, David, you've always been a rebel."

David sighed. "That wasn't _me_. And I was just a kid."

"But you miss it, don't you?" Sarah perched in the window sill and gave him a knowing look. "David, that strike was the biggest thing you were ever a part of. And Jack"

"I don't want to talk about Jack!"

Sarah ignored him. "was a big part of that. But you don't need him, you know. You can go off and do good things on your own."

David rolled his eyes. "I'm doing good things."

"But the library doesn't excite you."

"Life isn't always exciting, Sarah," he snapped.

"Cynic," she answered, then smiled. She stood up and started towards her bedroom. "I'm getting married in three days. Life _is_ exciting."

He sighed. "And I'm happy for you."

"And there _is_ someone out there for you."

She shut her door behind her, and David reached forward to shut the curtains.


	3. The Oldest Established

Nick rolled the cigarette between his fingers, but he was out of matches. He itched for the smoke, and even placed the cigarette between his lips. Bad news always made him nervous, and Nathan was not going to be pleased with this news. In forty-eight hours, their friends were going to be in town, looking for a crap game for the ages, and so far, Nathan hadn't had any luck finding somewhere to host it. Officer Brannigan had caught on to their usual spots and had cops watching them. It was obvious the man wanted to get Nathan in jail, it was like he never slept, obsessed by the goal. He was everywhere Nick had turned, waiting, smirking. No one was willing to let Nathan in to run the game, not with an obsessed flatfoot breathing down his neck.

The cig felt good between his lips. He snapped his fingers, like he could will a match to appear, or will the cigarette to light. And when the itch got bad, Nick gave up. The train terminal where he'd ended up after his last errand was close to empty, with only a few employees and a cop around. None of them looked friendly, so Nick hurried on to the next terminal over. A train was pulling in; it would be overrun by folks soon, and some of them were bound to be smiling.

Sure enough, the place flooded with people. Nick glanced around for someone who looked affable, and spotted a mark as easily as he used to spot suckers when he was selling papers. The guy was walking tall, his pinstriped suit well pressed, and he smiled in a way that almost leaked confidence. He was lighting up his own cigarette, hands in front of his face, when Nick walked over.

"Hey, sir, can I bum a match?"

"Sure, sure." The guy tore a match off his book and handed it to him.

"Thanks kindly." Nick started to wander away, then stopped, turned, and stared.

The guy was smoking now, but Nick could see him more clearly. His hair was long enough that Nick could see clearly that it was a sun-lightened brown falling from under his hat. And his profile...

Couldn't be.

But Nick would've known that profile in his sleep. He kept his eye on the man and lit the cigarette finally, took a drag, and let his head clear. The man was walking now, with a stride that matched his stance: confident, maybe even cocky. Nick started towards him, subtly, and finally maneuvered his way in the crowd. Bumped up against him, shoulder to shoulder.

"Pardon me," he said, when the man turned towards him.

And Jack Kelly recognized him the same second he was sure. His face lit up with that grin, the one Nick had seen so many times. His eyes were bright, too. Jack looked good; a little older, maybe, but wherever he'd been for the last decade, it hadn't dampened his good spirits any.

"Mush Meyers," Jack breathed, and slung an arm around him, like it was old times. "How the hell are you?"

Nick ducked out of his grasp. "We ain't friends, Kelly," he said.

Jack's expression sobered. "Fine, then." He straightened his shoulders. "But you didn't answer my question."

"I'm fine," Nick said. He started towards the door to the station, and Jack dogged his steps.

"Me, too. Thanks for askin'," Jack said.

"What the hell are you doing here, Kelly?" Nick snapped. He considered it in his mind; it was possible that someone in the gang still kept track of Jack, somehow, maybe had run into him...Maybe passed on word about the game to him. Nathan was not going to be happy about this, oh no.

"I'm just in town, awright? Just for a few days."

Nick started up the road, and Jack stayed at his side.

"Whatcha followin' me for?" Nick demanded. "You're in town, fine. Maybe I'll see you around town or somethin'."

"I'm not following you, Mush."

"Don't call me that!"

"Then what am I supposed to call you?"

Nick hesitated for a second, and finally spat out, "Meyers."

"Yeah, I knew that part." Jack rolled his eyes.

"It's _Nick_ Meyers, an' what's it to you, anyway?"

"Nothing, jeeze. I just..." Jack hesitated. "Hey, can I buy you dinner, Nick Meyers?"

"No."

"Come on." Jack shot him that grin and Nick decided to concentrate on his cigarette, not on Jack's smile. Jack's goddamn charming smile. "It won't kill you. I just want to say I'm sorry."

"The hell you are."

"You know I am." Jack's elbowed him and nodded at some kid on the corner, holding up copy of the World. "You still read the papes, Nick? Standard Oil's out of business."

"Yeah, I know."

"What do you think about it, huh?"

"Whatever. It don't concern me... 'Cept," he added hesitantly, "you know, them fatcats. I don't mind 'em getting broke down by the government."

Jack nodded. "Yeah, right." He put a hand on Nick's shoulder and stopped walking. "Meyers, I'm serious. I didn't think I'd see you, you or no one else, while I was here. But since I did see youI'm no weasel anymore, and I know I did a lot of stuff wrong. I just want to show you that, you know?"

The look he gave Nick wasn't a smile. It was the sincere face. Like when he used to tell Kloppman he was late 'cause he was helping some little old lady carry groceries, and that's why he should be allowed in after curfew. And Nick knew his resolve was never going to hold up against that.

"Whatever," he finally muttered. "Don't think this means I like you, or nothin'."

"I don't," Jack said. But he gave Nick's back a hearty pound. "So where does a gentleman like you get your grub, nowadays?"

Nick sighed. "I know a place."

*

Mindy's was a nice little restaurant, and Nick swore they had the best cheesecake in town. And he knew there was no danger of running into the other guys thereby this time of the evening, Nathan and Ben would be at the Hotbox, and Dave would either be working late on final details for the library dedication, or he'd be having a drink or two up at the Hotbox himself. He didn't miss new numbers.

"I only got half an hour," Nick said. "Then I got places to be."

"Sure thing," Jack said. He flagged down their waiter and they ordered quickly. "So..." Jack trailed off, then looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry, Nick."

"Yeah, it's easy to say that, I guess." Nick sighed.

"I am. An' I'd do just about anything to prove itto make it up to you. All of you." He hesitated. "I don't suppose you know...I mean, what're the odds that you still know any of the other guys?"

Nick shrugged. "I'd lay money on 'em, if I was you. Though maybe not on me tellin' you where they is."

But Jack was grinning again. "Some of the guys are still in town?"

"Some of 'em."

And he could swear Jack sounded _nervous_ when he asked, "David?"

Nick snorted. "Dave don't want to talk to you, Jack. No one does."

"Dave's still in New York?"

"Yeah. Sarah too. Not that you ever gave half a damn about her." Some of the anger crept back into his mind when he remembered the scene. Sarah in her wedding dress, standing there, determined. _He'll be here. Jack will be here._ "You good for nothing bastard," Nick added, his voice lowering.

Jack shut his eyes. "I was no good for Sarah," he murmured.

"You was never any good. Not for her, not for nobody, 'cept yourself."

"Nick..." Jack trailed off. Nick looked away. Neither spoke until the waiter arrived with food. Jack gave a mumbled thanks and started eating, then stopped. "Nick, if I could go back and make everything right between usyou and me, me and the guys, me and SarahI'd give anything. Do you believe me?"

And the thing was, Nick did believe him. "It ain't as easy as that, Jack," Nick finally said. "You can't just say you're sorry and have it all be right again. It don't work that way."

"I know it don't," Jack agreed. "That's why you gotta tell me where everyone else is, get them to talk to me. So I can make things right."

*

On the way to the Hotbox, Nick explained about the game. Yes, Nathan was hoping to rob their friends blind. Sure, some of them were gamblers, but most weren't serious about it. But Nathan needed the money, and anyway, it wasn't about the money. It was about the guys, about seeing everyone and having a nice reunion. Jack's timing was perfectly lucky, just like everything about him always had been. But of course, Nathan would have to say it was okay for Jack to show up. No one played without Nathan's permissionno one even got to know where the game was without it.

"And," Nick added, as he led the way in the back, "I'm tellin' you this right now, Jack. Nathan don't want to see you, and he _won't_ let you in."

"Leave..._Nathan_ to me." Jack said his name hesitantly, like he wasn't used to it. Which he probably wasn't, Nick thought. Jack hadn't seen any of them in so many years, in his mind, Nathan was still Racetrack. Still a kid, making wise-cracks and placing five-cent bets. He wouldn't expect Nathan, the way he was now. And he sure as hell wouldn't expect Adelaide.

Nick couldn't hide a smile. "Wait here," he said, pushing Jack into one of the back rooms. It was dim, with a cot pushed against the wall and some garish paintings hanging up to cover the peeling white paint.

"Nick"

"I'll be right back, Jack." He shut the door, shutting Jack in, and hurried through the corridors. Nathan was out at the bar, greeting early customers and making drinks. The show didn't start for twenty minutes yet. "Nathan? We got a visitor."

Nathan's face went blank. "An official type visitor?" he asked, glancing around in paranoia.

"Not the cops," Nick said, and Nathan let out a deep breath. "But I think...it's important, Nathan. Come with me a minute."

"I'm a little busy, Nicky."

"Yeah, but..." Nick glanced around, and saw Ben down with the band in the pit, chatting. "Ben!" he hollered, and all but shoved Ben behind the bar, then dragged Nathan off.

"What the hell's going on?" Nathan demanded.

"Look. I just ran into 'im. I figured you'd want to tell him off yourself, okay?"

"Who? Nick, what's"

"It's better if you don't know first," Nick said seriously. "Just...don't blame me, okay? I'm just trying to help out."

"Help who? Nicky"

But Nick opened the door to the grungy room, and Nathan saw who was standing inside, hat in his hands. They stared at each other, and Nathan swung the door shut abruptly.

"No, Nick."

"But"

"No." Nathan shook his head. "I don't know where you found him, but I want him out of here." The door jerked behind him, but Nathan held the knob tightly, keeping Jack shut in.

"You should just talk to him for a couple of minutes, he's"

"Sorry?" Nathan interrupted. "I heard him say that before. Ain't nothing he can say that would change my mind; Jack Kelly's a liar to the core. Now you get him out of my theater."

"Ain't _your_ theater," Nick answered.

"Don't be smart with me, you ain't good at it," Nathan said sharply. "Get Kelly _out_ of here and I don't want to see him around again."

"He wants to see the guys."

"Too bad for him."

And with that, Nathan let go of the door, turned, and walked away. Jack slammed the door open and yelled down the hallway, but Nathan didn't stop and didn't turn around. Jack clenched a fist. "Shit," he mumbled.

"I told you." But the look on Jack's face was genuine enough, and Nick always was the sap of the group. "Look," he murmured. "I'm supposed to get rid of you, but..."

"Nick, I'll do anything," Jack said quickly.

"You might just have to. Nathan's how you get to see the guys, an' he won't talk to you. He's stubborn as hell."

"Yeah, I remember that much."

"In fact, the only person I know who can change his mind is Adelaide. You get on Adelaide's good side, you get on Nathan's."

"Okay, okay," Jack agreed. "Can you take me to see her?"

"After the show," Nick said, smirking to himself just a little. "We can sit in the back and you can see for yourself. Then when Nathan's busy with the guests, I can get you backstage. No problem."

"Great." Jack smiled. "Thanks, Nick, you're a real pal."

"I'm a better pal than you ever was." But after he took a cursory look around to make sure no one was watching, Nick gestured Jack down the hall. "Come on. I can't wait to see you see the show."

*

Jack shifted in his seat and glanced forlornly at the bar. It wasn't too far away, but Nick had made it very clear he shouldn't go wandering. So he just sat in his seat in the back row of the theater, and pulled his hat down on his forehead, hoping to hide his face in case Nathan glanced up at them.

The show had started out perfectly normal. The emcee had warmed up the crowd and introduced the first act, a group of scantily clad ladies who danced to rowdy music. The second act was a man-and-woman duet, which tried a little too hard to get the couple into suggestive positions. Jack had already figured the Hotbox was a burlesque house, and he had no problem with that. At least, not until the third act.

The third act was another man-and-woman, but they were crossdressed. And not shy, either. Through the course of the number, they both lost most of their clothes; they froze with 'him' on top of 'her' on the stage, and the lights went down. Jack shifted in his seat and applauded politely. Next to him, Nick let out a wolf whistle.

The emcee took the stage again. "And now," he declared, shouting so the back rows could hear, "the Hotbox is proud to present our very own star, appearing in a brand new number! GentlemanMiss Adelaide!"

Jack was amazed; the crowd jumped to its feet as one, and the curtains hesitated, still closed, while they hollered and screamed. But as the band struck up and the curtains finally swept apart, a hush fell over everyone. One single spotlight came on, highlighting a very androgynous figure on the stage.

At first, Jack was pretty sure it was a woman, but given the previous act, he wasn't positive. The long blond hair could easily have been a wig. When the figure began to dance, singing a quiet song about missing her lover (gone to the army), he thought maybe it was a man after all. The song was almost entirely falsetto, but in the notes where the singer's voice rang out more clearly, it was deeper and more masculine. And though the figure on stage moved fluidly, gracefully, it was none too feminine, either.

The gag of the act was the singer explaining how she missed her lover and miming some of the sexy stuff they'd done together; as each verse went on, more clothing came off. By the time the skimpy slip had given way, Jack was positive this was a man. With the slip had gone the singer's curveshe was left in a flat-fronted corset that laced up the front. But it didn't look silly, like Jack had expected. He swallowed, uncomfortable. Miss Adelaidenot a Miss at all, it turned outobviously expected that most of the audience not only would get a kick out of a man in a woman's underclothes, but, in fact, would find it highly appealing. And through his sheer force of will, if nothing else, it was. Adelaide projected sex appeal like the follow spot projected light.

The number ended with him faced away from the audience, arms wrapped around himself. The lights went down, the curtains shut, and the audience was back on its feet, screaming.

Adelaide did a short encore, a more upbeat number, with some backup singers and dancers who seemed to actually be female. But they were incidental decoration; Jack was certain no one in the theater was looking anywhere but directly at the star.

They did the curtain call, and the lights came back up. Jack looked at Nick, startled. Nick smirked. "Not what you expected, Jack?"

Words failed him. Jack shrugged. "Guess not," he finally said.

The crowd began to move, and Nick grabbed Jack's arm. "Come on. Quick. And keep your hat down!"

Jack followed Nick as they wove their way through the audience members, not towards the exit, but to a smaller door. Nick glanced around suspiciously, then opened it and shoved Jack through. This led back to the maze of corridors around the main stage, and Nick seemed to know exactly where to go. He kept checking his watch worriedly, but finally found the doorway he was looking for and knocked, then opened it

"I don't believe I gave you permission to come in." The voice came from behind a large screen, which had clothes strewn across the top. The voice was unnerving, Jack decided. Because it was clearly a man's, but the imitation of a woman was too perfect. The room itself looked just like Jack had expectedit was a dressing room, with a table and chairs, mirrors, and costumes and jewelry strewn all over.

"Forgive me, Miss Adelaide," Nick said. "But you have an admirer who simply could not wait one more minute to see you."

"Oh? I don't believe I agreed to see anyone tonight, Nicholas. That _is_ you, isn't it, Nicky?"

"Of course it is, Miss Adelaide. And I would never presume upon you like this, except I feel it is a very important gentleman who wishes to meet you."

"Ah. Well, then." A hand appeared above the screen, selected a piece of baby blue clothing, and a moment later, Miss Adelaide appeared. He was still wearing the corset he'd had on stage, now with a silky blue robe over it. The wig was also still on, and the makeup he wore was much clearer now than it had been from the audience. But makeup couldn't hide his eyes.

They were blue, but one eye was much darker. It glanced first at Nick, then Jack. His other eye, however, was lighter, almost milky, and definitely couldn't focus. It saw nothing.

Which was how Jack realized exactly who Miss Adelaide was. Or had been.

"Blink?"

"Jack Kelly." Blink's voice was still feminine, still classy. He sauntered over to Jack quickly, and Jack froze, his usual confidence wavering, as he found himself completely at a loss when faced with an old friend dressed as a woman. "I haven't seen you in a very, very long time."

"It...it has been awhile."

"I always swore there was something I wanted to do if I ever saw you again." He paused, considering. "Oh. That's what it was."

At which point Jack learned that, just because a man was wearing a corset and a wig, it didn't mean he couldn't still hit like a street scrapper. The punch landed right on the side of Jack's face, slammed into his nose. Jack stumbled back, hands going to his face automatically. He felt the blood, and looked up, kind of shocked.

Blink was staring at his nails. "Drat, I just painted these," he mused, then looked up. "Nick, please do get Mr. Kelly something to stop the bleeding, and some ice, if you'd be so kind."

"Certainly, Miss Adelaide."

Jack glanced over at Nick, who was grinning widely as he hurried off to do as asked. Which left Jack alone with an ex-newsboy who had a wicked right hook and liked to wear women's clothesand take them off.

"Don't look so shocked, Kelly." Blink's voice dropped back to its usual register, which was actually disconcerting, considering the wig and the corset. "I don't know a single guy who doesn't want to hit youI'm surprised Nick didn't, frankly."

Jack lowered one of his hands, and used the other to pinch his nose, hoping the bleeding would stop. "I think he wanted to. I talked him out of it."

"You always were a fast talker." Blink gestured at a chair. "Do have a seat."

"Thanks." Jack sat. "So what am I s'posed to call youMush is Nick, now, and I guess Racetrack is Nathan."

"Adelaide will do, as long as the wig is on." He reached up and ran his fingers through the fake hair. "It's Thomas the rest of the time."

"Okay...Adelaide." Jack tentatively let his nose go, and winced. It was going to swell, and bruise, and he wanted to get the blood cleaned up. "So...how you been?"

"Excellent, for the most part." He raised a well-plucked eyebrow. "That's not what you want to ask me, is it?"

"Yeah, that's true. How the hell did you...How long have you..." He wasn't actually sure what to ask.

"I've been stripping here for eight years, now. I do it because I'm good at itand it pays very, very well." Adelaide sat down at the table, and examined his painted nails again, looking for a flaw. "And yes, Kelly, I'm as queer as they come."

"I figured. Nick kinda implied that you and Nathan..."

"Yes, well." He shrugged. "It's all up in the air."

Nick walked back in. He handed Jack a damp towel, and then a hand towel wrapped around a few ice cubes. "I got 'em from the barNathan's still out there, I said you wanted 'em."

"Thank you, Nicky. You're a gem."

"Anything for you, Miss Adelaide."

Adelaide gave Nick a coy smile, then turned back to Jack. "So what brings you back to these parts? You were so eager to abandon them, I didn't expect to see you again."

"I'm just around for a couple days. Business. But Nick said something about a game..."

"Oh, yes, that." Adelaide rolled his eye, then waved at Nick. "Nick, could you take out some pins for me?"

Nick nodded cheerfully and, as they continued to speak, began taking bobby pins out of the wig.

"I was hoping...I know I was a real jerk," Jack said slowly. "And when I ran into Nick, I realized...I've done wrong by a lot of people. You notice I didn't say I didn't deserve that punch in the face."

"I did notice that." Adelaide smiled demurely.

"But I realizedI'm here in the city, maybe I can make it up to people. At least apologizeat least give 'em a chance to say to my face what I know they've been sayin' to each other."

"I see."

"Andand Nick said it's up to Nathan whether or not I can go to that game, see the guys. And Nathan, uh, he doesn't want to talk to me."

"I'm not surprised." He gave Nick a sharp look. "Don't pull them, Nicholas; you'll hurt the wig."

"Sorry, Miss Adelaide."

"I forgive you, darlingyou know I could never be mad at you."

"That's the last of them," Nick added, tossing down a final bobby pin. Adelaide reached up and peeled the wig back, revealing short-cut, slicked down blond hair. He handed it to Nick, who hung it on the side of one of the mirrors.

"So..." Jack hesitated. "I was hoping maybe you could convince Nathan to talk to me. If I can convince him I'm serious, maybe I can convince everyone else, too."

There was a knock on the door. "Adelaide, my dear?"

"Well." Adelaideor Thomas, without the wig, Jack rememberednodded towards the door. "This should be interesting, at least." Then he raised his voice, and pitched it back into his female impersonation. "Nathan, my darling, come in!"


	4. I'll Know

Nathan swept into the room with a grin on his face. It dropped off abruptly when he saw Jack at the table. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it and glanced at Thomas.

"Sit down, darling," he said, his voice still high.

"Drop your voice or put your wig on, it's disturbin' when you do that," Nathan snapped.

"Don't tell me what to do," Thomas answered immediately. "And don't snap at me 'cause you're mad at him." But his voice dropped back to its normal register.

"Yeah, I am." He glowered at Jack. "You oughtta get lost, Kelly, before I clock you."

"He already did," Jack mumbled.

"Really?" Nathan gave Thomas a surprised look, and Thomas shrugged.

"I assumed even a rake like him wouldn't hit a girl."

Nathan turned to Jack again, glaring. "I want you out of here." He turned to Nick. "Didn't I say I want him out of here?"

"Did you say that?" Nick asked innocently.

"I definitely didn't tell you to bring 'im back here to harass my..."

"Listen, Nathan, I just"

"I don't wanna hear it!" Nathan yelled. "I don't wanna hear nothin' from you, Kelly, not now and not ever."

Jack pressed the ice to his face again and mumbled, "I've got the cash I owe you, Nathan."

"It ain't about cash!"

Thomas let out a bleat of a laugh, and Nathan glared at him. "Nathan, you've never given a damn about anything but money. Christ's sake, you of all people shouldn't be turning down cash."

"I'm tellin' you again, this ain't about cash." Nathan scowled at everyone around the room, and finally stuck out a menacing finger and waggled it at Jack. "You know what kills me, Kelly? What really kills me?"

Jack sighed. "Tell me, Nathan. Please."

"I defended you!" Nathan yelled. Jack blinked, confused, but he continued ranting. "You dirty scab. You sold us out. You remember that? You sold us out! And I defended you. I told everyone it wasn't worth it, bein' mad at you. I told 'em, we'd all do what you did, if we got half a chance. I defended you, an' if it wasn't for me, no one woulda ever forgiven you."

Jack stared. "II didn't know that." He glanced at Thomas and Nick.

Nick nodded. "He's right, Jack. Everyone was so mad, an' David was..." He shook his head. "David was no good to anyone that day."

Jack gaped a little, but Racetrack just glowered. "I defended you, you bum. An' if I hadn't, no one woulda forgave you. And you wouldn't have been able to run off with our money."

Jack sighed. "I'm sorry, Nathan."

"I thought I knew you, Jack," he snarled. "I thought I did. I figuredyou sold us out, you had your reasons. You lied; we all told lies, what was the difference? But youyou wasn't like the rest of us. You didn't give a damn about the rest of us. You told us we was your brothers, you borrowed our money for a wedding, and next thing we know..."

He didn't say it. Jack leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling.

He'd borrowed their money, but the day of the wedding, he'd run off, cash in hand. But they didn't understandhe hadn't been able to explain, and he hadn't had time.

Finally, Jack reached for his wallet and fished out a wad of cash. He dropped it on the table. "I owed you nineteen bucks, Nathan. Right there, and interest. I've got cash; I've got enough to pay back everyone I owe."

"Yeah? What about the rest of it? How the hell are you going to pay back David and Sarah?" Nathan snapped, not touching the money. "An' meI believed in you, that you were a stand-up guy in the end. Money ain't gonna stop me from feeling like a fool. It ain't gonna make me like you again. Nothing can do that. So just get lost, an' take your money, too."

"That ain't gonna happen, Nathan," Jack said, his voice calm and steady.

"I'll throw you out," Nathan snapped.

Jack raised an eyebrow and they looked at each other. And they both remembered when they were kids growing up together, that they'd almost never fought. But everyone got into fights sometimes, and they'd been no exception. Their fights had been explosive, hard to break up; Jack had the advantage in size, but Nathan fought dirty. It was a surprisingly even match.

"Nathan, I messed up bad, leaving here the way I did. I had my reasons," Jack said quickly, "but that don't make up for a goddamn thing. I'm only in the city a few days, but if everyone I did wrong to is here, I gotta think it's for a reason. Us all being here at once. It's gotta be so's I can make it up to everyone."

Nathan clenched a fist.

"If you don't forgive me, fine. Maybe I don't deserve it," Jack continued.

"Goddamn right you don't."

"But I gotta try." And Jack gave him the face. The sincere face. And even though everyone in the room knew that Jack could lie through his teeth with that look on his face, it was like a force of nature.

But Thomas spoke up. "I think you should forgive him, Nathan. At least... Well, maybe..."

"Maybe what?" Nathan snapped.

"Maybe you should forgive him whenifDavid does." Thomas smiled sagely.

Jack stared and Nathan snorted. "Yeah, that's a good one, Thomas. I'll forgive you, Jack, if David does."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

Nathan let out a bleat-like laugh. "Yeah, sure. Hell, I'd even put money on it. A grand and my forgiveness, whatever that's worth, if you get David Jacobs to say the words, 'I forgive you.'"

"I'd take that." Jack nodded. "Andand if Dave forgives me, you've gotta let me in on this game, so's I can see everyone."

"Yeah, sure." Nathan cocked his head and looked at Jack. "You really think you can do it, don't you? You borrowed money from all of us for the wedding, then ran off the morning you were supposed to get married. You left the Jacobs family in debt up to their eyebrows, you left Sarah waiting at the altar, and you disappeared for a decade. You really think David's just gonna forget about all that?"

"No," Jack said, but he didn't sound cowed or nervous. "I don't think he'll forget any of it. But that don't mean he won't forgive me." He almost laughed, then spat on his palm and held it out, a gesture he hadn't done in years. "A thousand bucks, forgiveness, and a crap game. Come on."

Nathan shrugged. "If you've got the cash to lose, Kelly. An' one more thingwhen I win, you get lost again. Permanently, this time."

"Sure," Jack said, though now he felt a little nervous. But he still shook Nathan's hand. "So now, where do I find 'im?"

"Oh, he'll be along." Nathan relaxed in his seat. "He never misses an opening."

Jack blinked. "Really?"

"Really." Thomas sighed. "He's quite sweet, you know; half the girls who work here have tried throwing themselves at him. I wonder why that hasn't worked." He looked at Nick. "I need to fix my nails; I think Jack's face broke one."

Nick grinned. "You shoulda seen that, Nathan. I swear, I ain't seen Thomas do anything so manly in years."

Jack ran a finger across the bruise and winced. "You don't hit like a dame, that's for sure," he mumbled.

"Oh, don't make that mistake, Jack," Thomas said. "I dress like a dame; I sing like a dame. I like gentlemen like a dame. But I ain't a dame."

"Sure," Jack agreed. He still had no idea what to think about Thomas, but then again, Thomas was quickly becoming the least of his worries. He didn't feel quite right about putting money on David's emotions, but he definitely hadn't taken the bet to get Nathan's money. All he wanted was to apologize.

He shut his eyes and felt the bruise on his face throb.

He wanted to apologize, and he wanted David to accept that apology. And he did want Nathan's forgiveness, and everyone else's, but the only person he'd been really hoping to see in New York was David. He was sure he'd betrayed Sarah worse, but it was the thought of David's anger that had haunted him.

"So how was business?" Thomas finally asked Nathan.

"Better than usual; your new number went over great," Nathan said. "Real sexy."

"You thought so?" Thomas smiled.

"Everyone did."

"Hmph." Thomas gave him an unreadable look. "And the costume?"

"Pink always looks good on you, you know that," Nathan said tonelessly.

"Yes, but the corset, and the slipdid you like it?"

"You were gorgeous, Tom," Nick put in.

"You're so sweet, Nicky." Thomas flashed him a smile, then turned a scowl on Nathan. "I was gorgeous. Wasn't I?"

"Yes, goddamnit," Nathan snapped, blushing furiously. "Why do you always have to do this to me, Tom?"

"Do what?" Tom snapped back. "Ask you what you think of my act?"

"You know that's not what you were asking."

"Hey, hey," Nick interrupted. "Come on, you guys, give it a rest. It was a great show, Tom, everyone liked it. Even Jacky-boy here." He threw a desperate look at Jack.

"Yeah, yeah," Jack agreed. "It was real...You got the legs for it, you know?"

"Why, thank you." Thomas smiled and Nathan rolled his eyes.

"Don't take anything he says serious," Nathan muttered. "He's a liar, Tom."

"And you're a gambler and a cheat." Thomas raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "And he's right, I have better legs than any girl in the show."

"Whatever you say," Nathan snorted.

"Just because you don't appreciate 'em, that doesn't mean"

They were interrupted by a banging at the door. "Adelaide? Thomas? You in there?" The voice was female.

"Sure thing, Laverne!" Thomas called back.

The door swung open, and a young woman in a leotard and tights, her hair pinned up, sauntered in. She was one of the dancers from the show. And at her heels was David.

Jack stared.

David had aged well, mostly, though his skin was lined with the beginnings of wrinkles. Jack knew them immediatelythe wrinkles he'd get from furrowing his brow, when he read or when he concentrated; the lines he'd have around his mouth from smiling and laughing. And he still had the curls, and those wide blue eyes...

"Hi, Dave," Jack said.

And David stared at him.

"David," Thomas said finally, "this is Jack Kellyyou might remember him."

"Yeah," David said. "If this is a bad time, I can come back later."

"No, it's fine," Thomas said.

"David?" Laverne asked, sounding confused.

"I should go," David said. He turned towards the door.

"Wait!" Jack yelled. "David, please, wait."

David did stop and wait, but he didn't turn around.

"I just...I came back to apologize," Jack said. "To you, to Sarah, and everyone. I...I'm so sorry."

David snorted. "Sure, Jack, whatever you say." Then he walked back through the door, Laverne following him nervously, and shut it calmly behind him.

"Easy money," Nathan mused.


	5. A Bushel and A Peck

Jack was still staring in dismay at the closed door when Thomas cleared his throat. "I think we all probably could have predicted that," he said. "But don't worry, Jack, you've got all day tomorrow."

"Yeah," Jack mumbled, but he sounded almost crushed. Like he couldn't believe that David hadn't been happy to see him, even though he had expected it. "I..."

"Don't go after him yet," Nick advised. "Dave...well, he'll need awhile to get his head around this, you know?"

Jack nodded.

"You want a drink?" Nick offered. "I can go raid the bar. Nathan, gimme the keys."

"No," Nathan snapped. "If Jack wants a drink, he can go elsewhere."

"There's no need to be rude," Thomas snapped. He stood up. "However, gentlemen, this corset is growing tiresome, so I think it's time to retire for the evening. Nicholas, be a gentleman and accompany Jack to his hotelI assume you have arrangements at a hotel, Jack."

"Yeah," Jack said.

"Good. Nick, make sure he gets there safely." He raised an eyebrow. "A gentleman who can throw around a thousand dollars on a bet probably shouldn't wander the city late at night. There are unsavory people aboutespecially in this neighborhood."

"Sure thing, Thomas." Nick nodded and stood, and Jack followed hesitantly.

Jack and Thomas sized each other up for a moment; Jack had very little idea where Thomas stood. Thomas had been perfectly civil...since the punching. On the other hand, Jack had the bruise to prove that Thomas's civility could fade at any moment.

"Jack," Thomas finally said, and held out a hand to shake. "I don't care what anyone says, I'm glad you came here tonight. You didn't owe me any cash, so I think the punch to the face just about squared us up."

"Sure," Jack said hesitantly. "Does that mean that next time I can hit back?"

Thomas laughed and they shook hands.

Jack glanced at Nathan, who was positively glaring. But not at him: Nathan was giving Thomas a look like he hoped the man would drop dead. Nick threw them both nervous glances. "You two, uh, have a good night, okay?" he asked.

Thomas made an amused noise and Nathan muttered something under his breath.

"Okay, well...I'll see you tomorrow," Nick finally said. "Come on, Jack."

"Sure," Jack said. He gave Nathan an apologetic look. "G'night, Nathan."

Nathan didn't answer.

As they wound through the maze of hallways, Jack heard what sounded without doubt like an inappropriate noise. There was a distinct, rhythmic banging, with an accompanying high-pitched creaking. And those were just the noises of (Jack assumed) a bedhe could also hear a breathy moaning, clearly female, and occasional grunts. He threw a questioning look at Nick, who shrugged.

"The girls who work hereand some of the guyswell, everyone's gotta make a living," Nick said, not sounding particularly scandalized.

"Yeah?" Jack stopped walking, stricken. "But...Thomas?"

"Not in a long time," Nick said. "He didn't like it much, I guessNathan sure as hell didn't like him doing it. But most of the dancers don't seem to mind it much; it's extra cash. Thomas is the only one who really makes a living on just performing, and that's only 'cause he owns part of this place."

Nick led the way past another few rooms with moans escaping from under the doors, and finally out into a side alley. Jack only felt a little nervoushe had grown up on the streets despite how long he'd been away, he still felt at home. But then again, as a kid, he hadn't had more than nickels and dimes to lose. Now there was actual money in his walleta lot of it, really.

It wasn't too far until they were back to the main drag, and only a few blocks down that to a subway stop. "This thing is real handy," Jack said. "Can you imagine if we'd had these back then?"

"Yeah." Nick smiled a little. "Yeah, it woulda made life easier."

Jack cleared his throat. "I owed you a couple bucks, didn't I?"

"Yeah. A couple." Nick smirked for a second. "You know, before you ran off, I actually felt bad I didn't have more to give you. Thomas did toohe was always flat broke then, 'member?"

"I do." He remembered it clearly, actually.

ThomasBlink had come up to him two days before the wedding and put a quarter in his hand. "It's all I got, Jack," he'd said. Jack had refused it, saying he had enough; the money had come together at the last second. Everything was taken care of: they had a place to hold the damn thing, a rabbi who was willing to marry them (with a promise that Jack would convert, that he wanted to, he just hadn't had the time yet), the food, and the dress. It was all adding up to be a bundle, but they'd been working hard to earn it, and the guys had all chipped in, and given what they could. Jack had it all stashed in Kloppman's safe, all he had to do was show up the morning of the wedding, and pay for the space, the dress, and the cake.

"Here," Jack said quickly, tearing his thoughts away from back then. He dug out his wallet and pressed a ten dollar bill into Nick's hand.

"That's more than you owed me, Jack."

"Please, take it." Jack threw him the sincere face, and Nick sighed. "It's interestI done wrong by leaving, by taking the money with me. Just take it."

"You know, Dave tried to pay us back," Nick said, after he pocketed the cash. "Most of us wouldn't let 'im. You took our money, not him, and he needed it to pay off the collectors."

Jack winced. Never mind that he hadn't shown up and there had been no marriage, the food and the dress and the room was still expensive. They wouldn't have cared that Sarah hadn't gotten married, only about the money they were owed. The family would have owed more than it was making. David had probably had to leave school again, after only just getting back to it.

"I don't know how I'm gonna do it, Nick, but I'm gonna make this right."

"Good luck," Nick said, and it sounded like he probably meant it. "So...Jack, where'd you go, anyhow?"

Jack chewed on his lip for a second before he said, "Out west. But not...Not just on a whim, Nick. It turned out I, I had family. I hadn't ever known about 'em, my mother's parents, but..." He trailed off. "I got a letter from my granddad, I had to go."

"Did you have to leave without saying goodbye?" Nick asked plaintively.

Jack hung his head. The words died in his throat, I couldn't face everyone, and he didn't speak them. But after a long silence, he asked, "How did...How did Kid Blink end up like he did? The Kid I remember was...well, he didn't dress like a dame, that's for sure."

Nick chuckled. "Yeah, I was a little surprised the first time I saw him. But he gave me a pretty good job, so what do I care if he likes to dress like a dame and take his clothes off?"

"Well, yeah," Jack agreed. "I'm not sayin' it matters, I'm just sayin'...how'd it happen?"

"I wasn't there or nothing," Nick said. "I was working in a factory. Everyone kinda went their own way after you split. But the way I heard it, he begged a job off Medda in old Irving Hall, just pulling curtains and like that. Well, one day he was helping out some actress, helping her learn lines or somethin', and Meda heard him, said he was pretty good. She tested him, found out he can sing and dancewho knew that, right?"

"I sure as hell didn't," Jack said. "I mean, I remember he was always hanging around theaters an' all, but..."

"Yeah," Nick said. "Yeah, I guess he learned somethin'. Anyway, Medda thought he was good so she put him on stage a couple times, he did a good job. Eventually got one of them duets, you know? But the doll he was playin' against got real sick and lost her voice one night. There was a guy who knew his part, but no one knew hers, so Thomas...Well, what I heard is that he grabbed a wig and did it, played it for laughs."

"People laughed?"

"That's what he told me. People liked it a lot. And after that... After that, Medda told him there's, well, other kinds of theaters. Not nice ones, like Irving Hall...shadier ones. Like the Hotbox. Where he could get a job doin' those same kinda numbers, but playing 'em for real. She got him an audition, I guess, and he got a gig at the Hotbox."

"You said he owns the place?"

"Not all of it," Nick explained. "The guy who owns the rest, used to own the whole thing...well, the bulls got wise that some stuff was goin' on there. You know, the dancers sellin' themselves was bad enough, but all the queers..." He shrugged. "He and Thomas worked out a deal. He sold Thomas a third of the place for cheap, if Thomas would take the fall when the cops came. So Thomas bought it, an' the cops came, an' he did a few nights in jail."

"Really?"

"Really. Henry, the guy who owns the rest of the joint, he didn't care. He'd have left Thomas in there to rot, but there wasn't a lot of proof what happened, so he was only there a few days. Of course, now the police are always breathing down Thomas's neck, he just about never goes out, so he hired Nathan to take care of his business for him."

"And..." Jack thought about it for a second. "Was Nathan surprised when he found out about, uh...Thomas?"

"I dunno. I wasn't there." Nick shrugged. "I guess Nathan had gone to the Hotbox not even knowing who Adelaide was, an' when he figured it out, tracked him down backstage to say hi. They hadn't seen in each other in a couple of years, he said. And they hit it off, and after Thomas gave Nathan a job, Nathan gave me a job, so I think it all worked out."

"Nice of them," Jack said.

"They're good people, never mind being queer," Nick said.

Jack took a deep breath. He believed Nick, that Nathan and Thomas were good peopleeven though he doubted that Nathan would forgive him if he won the bet. But maybe it was good enough to try, to do what he could. And if he won and Nathan still didn't forgive him, at least it would mean that David did. And if David forgave him, he wasn't sure anything else would matter.

*

David was still in a daze when he walked in the door to his apartment. He was greeted by darkness, luckily; he didn't want to make excuses for where he'd been. His parents knew he spent time with "the guys" but they didn't know about Adelaide's show. Sarah knew, and she would shake her head disapprovingly every time he came home late. Another reason why it wouldn't be such a bad thing when she moved out.

He waited for his eyes to get accustomed to the light, then moved to the living room, and saw his bed was already occupied. Squinting revealed Ari. He'd probably been over, stayed late, and ended up sleeping over. Not really appropriate, but maybe more so than it had been when Sarah was seventeen and Jack would stay the night.

David stripped off his tie, tossed it over a chair, kicked off his shoes, and nudged Ari. "Move over," he mumbled. It wasn't the first time this had happened. Ari woke up enough to make an almost-human noise, then rolled over. David sighed and lay down next to him.

He shut his eyes and tried to sleep, to shut his mind down. But all he could see was the image of Jack, staring at him. Looking sincere, looking like no time had passed. Like he hadn't run off with all their money and left Sarah in her wedding dress.

He buried his head in the pillow and Ari began to snore. David sighed and rolled over again, unable to get comfortable. Not surprising, with Ari's bulk taking up half the bed.

But then, he'd always slept fine with Jack there. He wondered how many nights he'd drifted off like that, back to back with Jack. It had been almost comforting. The steady rhythm of Jack's breathing, the accidental brush of Jack's hand against his back. It hadn't felt awkward, it hadn't made it hard to sleep.

It had been comfortable. _Jack_ had been comfortable.

David knew full well he wasn't going to fall asleep. He rolled out of bed, stood up, and looked out the window. He'd checked the window in the old tenement so many mornings after Jack had disappeared, inwardly hoping he'd be out there, dozing off in the pale dawn light. It had become a habit, one he hadn't broken until he'd moved. But Jack had been gone, and eventually David had come to terms with the fact that gone meant gone forever.

Or it should have meant that. Not that Jack would come back someday, not that tonight, when David stared out at the skyline, that somewhere in the city, Jack was looking at the same sight.

David sat in his armchair and stared out at the city lights. And he remembered the night a decade ago, the last night he'd seen Jack. Jack had been nervousno one could have blamed him for thatand clutching a piece of paper. Babbling about going out west, about family. About taking Sarah, maybe about taking them all.

But then he'd...David sighed. Of all the stupid things Jack had ever done, it had been by far the stupidest. But he still remembered it, moment for moment. Jack had put a hand on David's neck and leaned down, resting their foreheads together. _"Come with me, Dave. Just you and me."  
_

"Jack, I can't."

"Please, Dave. I'm begging you. We can go now, there's a train at dawnyou and me, we can go together. David"

"Jack, stop."

He'd pushed Jack away, not able to stand it. He'd been able to smell the liquor still on Jack's breath from the party, he knew Jack was drunk, that was why he was talking crazy.

_"David, please."_

David had pushed him away, but couldn't look away. Couldn't break eye contact.

_"You're marrying my sister, Jack._ Tomorrow."

_"Come with me, David."  
_

"She's my sister."

"Please."

"Jack"

"David." Jack had reached out for his hand; David had pulled it away. _"Please. If I mean anything to you, anything at all, come with me. Please."   
_

"Jack. Just...stop."

David had turned away. He'd walked into the building and left Jack standing outside. And hadn't seen Jack since.


	6. Adelaide's Lament

Thomas stood up and shrugged out of the blue robe. He glanced over at Nathan and tried to catch his eye, but Nathan was still scowling at the room in general. With an over-dramatic sigh, Thomas crossed back to behind his changing screen and began to unlace the corset.

"It figures," Thomas said, then took a deep breath as the restriction around his rib cage loosened. "All these years of hating Jack, and the moment he walks in the door, you make a bet with him."

"Yeah, well," Nathan answered, his voice drifting back. "I need money, I don't need Jack."

"I see." Thomas reached for his shorts, though he didn't really enjoy wearing them. It hadn't taken working at the Hotbox for long before he'd grown used to women's clothes. "And why, exactly, do you need a thousand dollars?"

Half-dressed, he stepped back into the rest of the room, and fixed Nathan with as piercing a gaze as he could manage. Nathan squirmed. "None of your business," he finally answered.

"On the contrary." Thomas crossed his arms. "I know you owe me significantly more than a grand. And I know I overpay you for work Nick could do just as well - and he's _much_ nicer to me."

Nathan glowered and Thomas stared back stonily. "You like Nick so much, why the hell ain't it him in here?"

"Because Nick won't have me. Pity, really, that he isn't queer. I'd run off with him in a heartbeat."

"So I'm what, second best? Third?"

"_Nick_ isn't ashamed to be friends with me," Thomas answered sharply.

Nathan looked away, turned his head so he didn't even face Thomas. All he said was, "I need the cash for the game. The only place I been able to find to have the damn thing is Biltmore's garage - and he wants a grand first or no deal."

"I see." Thomas rolled his eye and leaned against a wall. "And the money you earn - actually, legitimately _earn_ \- is...?"

"I told you, ain't none of your business!"

Thomas sighed. "Honestly, I don't mind that you gamble, Nathan. I mind that you're so _bad_ at it."

"Shut the hell up."

"Twenty grand, and you still think you're going to win it back. I don't pay you so much because you're such a good errand boy; I pay you so that you can pay me back someday." Thomas fixed him with that stare again. "They broke your arm."

"I'd have been fine."

"I doubt that."

"I'm _gonna_ pay you back." Nathan finally looked at him again. "Thomas, I mean it. I will."

"Sure."

"Damn it, I..." He trailed off and stared at Thomas, who smiled for the first time. Nathan had practically done a double take, and Thomas enjoyed being noticed. At least until Nathan said, "Put some clothes on, Tom."

He made a noise he hoped would convey how offended he was, then turned on his heel and stalked back behind the screen. "It's not even that I want the money," he said. "All I want is my theater. I was supposed to buy this place almost two years ago. Do you know how long I'd been saving?"

"Six years," Nathan snapped back. "I know it, you won't let me forget it!"

"Six _years_," Thomas continued. "And when I finally have enough, I find you with a broken arm and a bloodied face and some _thug_ tells me you owe his boss money which you not only don't have, you _never_ had!"

"I know, I was there," Nathan yelled. "He cheated me, Thomas, he goddamn _cheated_!"

"So you've been saying for the last two years." Thomas began to pull clothing on angrily; trousers and his belt, then the shirt. He stomped out from behind the screen while he was still buttoning it. "But despite your ridiculously high salary, I haven't seen a dollar of it back."

"I"

"You are never going to win it back. Not betting on horses, not playing poker, not at the crap game. Never."

Nathan scowled. "I said I'll pay you back."

Thomas let it sit in silence for a moment before throwing himself down on the chair he'd occupied earlier, then changed his mind, stood up, and stalked over to the mirror, picked up his wig and a comb, and began to fix the silky hair, facing towards the mirror and pointedly away from Nathan.

"So now what, you're ignoring me?" Nathan finally demanded. "Jesus, you're touchy."

"I am _not_ touchy!" Thomas snapped.

Nathan snorted. "I was ready to have a good night for a change, after what you did to Jack. Instead, all you want to do is yell at me about that damn debt."

"I don't care about the debt." Thomas slammed down the comb and turned towards Nathan. "So help me, I honestly don't. I saved up the money once; I'll do it again."

"Sure," Nathan muttered. "And we both know how you earned it." His voice turned cold as he spoke.

Thomas clenched a fist. "I will not apologize to you for that. Hooking was damn good money."

"If you don't mind selling your dignity." Nathan gestured around. "Except, wait - you still do that, don't you, Miss Adelaide?"

"Get out." Thomas's voice lowered.

"Honestly, why do you even bother taking off the dress anymore?"

"I said _get out_."

"Thomas"

"At least I don't lie about what I am!" He dropped the wig on the table in front of Nathan and leaned down so they were almost nose-to-nose. "It just kills you that you're as queer as me, doesn't it?"

"Thomas"

"But unlike you, I'm not ashamed of what I am, or what I do. Or anything I've done."

"Maybe you should be." Nathan stood up. "What you are isn't normal!"

"What I am?" Thomas scoffed. "I'm not normal, then what the hell are you?"

"At least I have the common sense to not flaunt it." Nathan shook his head. "When was the last time you even went outside, Tom? You say you're not ashamed but you hide in this fucking ramshackle theater. Do you even remember what normal is?"

"I remember normal is having a lover who treats me well."

"Normal ain't having a lover! It's having a girl - an _actual_ girl."

Thomas froze for a few moments, then finally said, "I already asked you to leave. If you detest me that much, why are you still here?"

Nathan actually looked a little surprised at that. "I - Thomas, you know I don't, I don't detest you. You're just..." He shrugged, but Thomas didn't warm. "I'm sorry," he finally said.

"You should be." Thomas's voice was still cold. "I've given you everything you asked for - a roof and three squares, when you needed them. A job. Understanding. Money. I won't be walked on in return."

Nathan winced, by the looking on his face realizing how far he'd dug himself in. _That_ caused Thomas to give him a thin-lipped smile.

"No more," Thomas finally continued. "If you can't treat me decently, you'll get nothing else from me. No more time, or chances - sure as hell no more money."

Nathan nodded quickly.

"Do you even still love me?" Thomas asked.

Silence hung between them. Nathan stared at him, looking off-balance; his mouth opened, but no sound came out. And Thomas didn't know if he wanted to beg Nathan to answer, or to throw him out.

Finally he said, "I see."

"Thomas..." Nathan actually sounded upset.

"Perhaps it would be best if you do leave," Thomas answered.

"Of course I love you," Nathan said quickly, speaking too fast, as though it could make up for the silence. "I just - I didn't expect you to ask."

"I want to be alone."

"Please," Nathan murmured. "Please, don't. I want to spend the night. I know you want me to. Thomas, look at me."

Thomas tried to at least make it a glare, but he couldn't stop himself from softening when he saw the look Nathan was giving him. Open. Earnest. Like maybe he did care, he wasn't just trying to save his cushy job or keep Thomas around for his money.

"Tom, I'm sorry. I do love you. It just... It's hard, being what we are."

And that was the truth, as much as Thomas wanted to deny it. He sighed. "Never again, Nathan." He sank down into a chair. "Go make me a cup of coffee and I'll meet you upstairs soon. But this is your last chance."

Nathan nodded and let himself out of the dressing room without saying anything else. Thomas shut his eyes and sighed. Acting happy was so much easier than _being_ happy.


	7. Guys and Dolls

Dawn found Jack sitting on the stoop of a red brick building, which he hoped contained David's apartment. Nick hadn't been positive of the address, when Jack had wheedled it out of him; he'd just had the block and said it was about halfway down.

It was a nice morning, slightly chilly in the dim sunlight. Jack lit up a cigarette and inhaled; the smoke tasted better than the city air. He'd forgotten how foul it could be. But then, he didn't remember these still moments too well, either. Moments when the night faded into day, and the streets were nearly empty. He could practically hear birdsong.

What split the quiet was a newsboy. He turned onto the road, hollering, hawking the _Journal_. "Standard Oil out of business - Rockefeller tried to off himself!" A few doors opened, and sleepy businessmen stepped out to buy papers. Some of them walked back inside after, some of them down the road and off to work. Jack stood and met the kid in the middle of the road.

"What'd old John D. do, anyhow?" he asked.

"Tried to hang himself. But the rope snapped and he broke a leg. His butler found him."

"Where's that story?" Jack asked, scanning the headlines. Standard Oil was indeed above the fold, but the headline was about the settlement that was being finalized with the new subsidiaries.

"Second page," the kid answered innocently, tracing Jack's gaze.

"You'd think it would be on the front. Above the fold."

"Hey, I don't write the damn thing, I just sell it. You want a pape or not, mister?"

"Yeah, sure, of course." He pulled out his wallet, then asked, "You sell around here a lot?"

"Every morning." The kid held out a paper, and eyed Jack as he pulled out a dollar bill.

"You know if a guy named Jacobs lives around here?"

"Yeah, maybe I do. I ain't got change for that," he said.

"Didn't ask for change. I asked a question." Jack didn't reach for the paper yet.

"Yeah, okay. Mr. Jacobs lives in that one." He pointed to the building  
across the street from where Jack had been sitting. "Leaves at 8:15 on the dot every morning. Sometimes his sister comes out with him. She's getting married soon."

Jack blinked. That was news to him. He folded the dollar between his fingers. "Oh...yeah?"

"Yeah." The kid looked at the dollar again. "Sometimes - sometimes her fiance, he spends the night. I seen him leaving in the morning."

"Interesting." Jack held out the dollar and took the paper. "Thanks, kid. Get yourself a good meal."

"Sure will," he said, and tipped his hat. He pocketed the dollar and added, "Thanks, mister."

Jack smiled a little and crossed the road to the other stoop and sat. He thumbed through the paper and finally checked his pocket watch. The minutes ticked by. He'd arrived much earlier than he needed to, and he knew that, but he also didn't want to risk missing David.

Slowly, the street came to life. The newsboy looped back down it a few times, catching more people as they left each time. He gave Jack an apprehensive look like he might try to take the dollar back, but Jack only smiled a little. Some windows opened, and Jack could hear muted voices and smell breakfasts cookingbacon, fresh bread, eggs. And several people left David's building. He jumped each time, but was disappointed, until his watch finally told him it was 8:10. He stood and stepped to the side of the door, waiting. And the newsboy turned out to be right. The door swung open at a quarter after, and David stepped out, glancing down the road to see the newsboy just starting again.

Jack cleared his throat, held out the barely-read paper, and said, "Buy a pape, mister? I hear Rockefeller tried to off himself."

David glanced at him, but seemed less startled than he had the previous night. He barely hesitated before declaring, "Go to hell, Jack." He began to walk away briskly, as though if he weren't so dignified in his suit and tie he'd run. But Jack kept pace with him easily.

"I just want to talk. Dave"

"Go. To. Hell." David stopped in front of the newsboy and held out a quarter. The newsboy glanced at them nervously, and Jack could only assume he could feel the tension.

"I ain't got change for that, Mr. Jacobs," the kid said, though Jack was certain it was a lie this time.

"Keep it, then." David took his paper and started to walk again, but Jack grabbed his arm.

"David, I just want to talk."

He pulled his arm away and balled a fist. Jack winced, not sure if David would actually hit him, though he was sure he deserved it. But David finally unclenched his hand. "Leave me _alone_."

"Not going to happen." Jack tucked his paper under his arm. "Not until you let me explain."

"Explain?" David repeated incredulously, his voice rising in both pitch and in volume. "Explain what - how you stole our money or how you broke my sister's heart?"

"David, if you could keep your voice down..." Jack mumbled nervously. He glanced around and saw they were attracting some strange looks. The newsboy was staring at them, and so were a few men in suits, probably stopping to gawk as they headed off for work. And Jack could see curtains twitching, doubtlessly curious people wondering what the racket from outside was.

"No, I will not keep my voice down!" David yelled, apparently not caring about the glances. But he sobered up a moment later, his gaze abruptly fixing on one of the windows behind Jack. Jack hesitated, not sure he wanted to look, but finally glanced over his shoulder in the direction David was staring. Just in time to see Sarah disappear from a second-story window.

"Get out of here," David hissed. _Now_ his voice was quiet. "She doesn't deserve this."

Jack's first instinct was to agree, if only because he wasn't sure he could face Sarah. But he shook his head. "I'm only leaving if you come with me. I'm _gonna_ explain"

A door slammed shut and Jack didn't need to look to know Sarah was storming towards them, but he turned and faced her anyway. And he tensed up, waiting, and she stopped right in front of him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Sarah, I"

She didn't give him a chance to finish. Instead, she reached up and slapped him, putting the whole weight of her arm behind it, and her open palm collided with his already-bruised cheek. He was still reeling, the previous night's ache in his face having returned, when she demanded, "Where the hell is my money?"

"Uhm," Jack mumbled, and tried to take a breath. David crossed to stand next to Sarah protectively. Not that she needed it, judging by the throbbing in his cheek. "I have it," he added.

She held out her hand.

"Not on me," he added quickly. "In the bank."

"Yeah," David mumbled. "Sure."

"I do!" He took another deep breath. "I do. Sarah, I...I'm sorry. I"

"I don't care, Jack." She glared at him in a way that suggested she probably did care. "I don't want anything from you but the money you stole."

Jack nodded. "I have business at the bank this morning anyway," he said. "I can get it for you then. We can meet for lunch."

"I'm not meeting you anywhere," Sarah said firmly, crossing her arms.

"Please," Jack said. "Don't you even want to know what happened?"

"So you can lie to us?" David put in.

"I don't want to lie, I"

"You have never in your life told the truth. Not to either one of us. Not since the minute we met," David continued.

"I'm done with that," Jack said, and added in response to identical skeptical looks, "I _am_." Neither sibling spoke. "Look, please. Meet me for lunch, give me fifteen minutes to explain over cheesecake, and I'll give you the money. If you don't want to, you never have to see me again." Jack stared at them plaintively.

Sarah scowled, then said, "No."

"What?" He was actually startled by that.

"No. I don't want to see you; I don't want to hear anything you have to say," she said. "David"

"_I_ don't want to!" David interrupted.

"David, please," Sarah said. "I needI need my head together for the wedding." She stared him down, and he sighed. Jack tried not to smile.

"Twelve-fifteen," he finally said. "Until twelve-thirty. And then you hand over our money, and you crawl back under your rock."

Jack nodded. "Nick showed me a place called Mindy's."

"Yeah. Cheesecake." David didn't look amused. "Sarah, you should go back inside. I have to get to work."

Sarah nodded. She glanced at Jack one last time, her expression disgusted, and then turned without saying another word. David pushed past Jack again, moving quickly. Jack didn't go after him. Now he had a few hours to figure out how to explain things, and he knew he'd have a chance. That was more than he'd hoped for.

He checked his pocket watch again and decided that he'd better get to work himself. The morning's appointments were more important than he'd wanted to let on.

*

Jack slid into a booth at Mindy's nervously. He'd told the waiter who he was expecting, and had still, even years after he'd been pardoned, found himself selecting a table as close to out of sight as possible - a sour-faced cop had been standing near the door, glaring at everyone who walked in. As Jack waited, he reached into his suit jacket's pocket and ran a finger over the envelope that held the money he owed the Jacobs family, and then some. Then he lit a cigarette nervously and waited, checking his pocket watch almost once a minute.

David was punctual. Jack put out the cigarette and dropped his watch back into his pocket when, at exactly 12:15, David appeared. He exchanged wary glances with the officer, then looked around. Jack stood and waved, and David hurried over to him.

"I just want it to be clear," David hissed, "I don't want to see you. I'm not here for you. I'm here as a favor to Sarah."

Jack nodded. "I understand that, David." He motioned over the waiter and ordered his cheesecake, then glanced at David.

"Struedel," David muttered.

"Sure thing, Mr. Jacobs," the waiter answered.

"Seems like everyone knows you," Jack said.

David shrugged.

Jack took a deep breath. "I didn't take off for no reason, David. I - I panicked."

David rolled his eyes but didn't say anything.

"And right when I started to panic, the morning before the wedding, I got a letter. Do you remember that? It came to the lodging house. Kloppman had one of the new kids take it to me.

"It was...It was from my grandfather."

"Your grandfather." David sounded skeptical. "Sure."

"It was," Jack insisted. "I didn't know I had a grandfather, I didn't know I had any family - except my dad, and you know where he was." David didn't respond, so he pressed on. "My mom - she died when I was a kid. I didn't know anything about her, except her name was Kelly."

Jack had never told him David part of it before, but got only a raised eyebrow in response.

"But, uh, I guess...it turns out, her parents were alive and well. She'd run off - eloped. They didn't approve of my dad, which I guess makes sense, since he was scum and all, so they never...she never contacted them again. But, uh, well, they were starting to get old, my grandmother was getting sick. They decided to find her.

"Of course, she was dead by then. Instead they found out my dad was in jail...and they found my record. Everything from the first time they threw me in the Refuge to the pardon. They sent the letter to the lodging house, Kloppman sent it to me.

"They invited me to come out and live with them, Dave."

"You were supposed to get _married_."

Jack sighed. "I don't expect you to understand," he finally mumbled. "You have family - flesh and blood family. You always have. For me, though...Even when your parents called me 'son,' and even when the newsies felt like brothers...it's not the same. It's always...You're always afraid, if you do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, it can all vanish. It's like people are letting you sit at the table, but you don't really belong there. You can't know what that feels like."

David said nothing, but he stared down at the table, his brow furrowed. Jack tried not to get his hopes up, but he could tell by the look on David's face that _something_ he'd said had sunk in.

"This was my chance, Dave. My chance to finally have something you _always_ had. And I was afraid if I didn't go, it would be my only chance, and I'd lose it."

"But you were _creating_ a family," David said, sounding frustrated. "With Sarah."

"I know. I just...At first I figured I'd write to her, tell her where I'd gone, ask her to come and join me...her, and you, too."

David's face went blank. Jack cleared his throat.

"But, well...I guess I just realized, I'd done you wrong, both of you. Especially when I took the money. I shouldn't have done that."

"No kidding."

"But I didn't know what I was getting into," Jack continued. "I - I was wrong, I admit that, but I was also thinking...what if it didn't work out, what if I needed to get away from my family? I didn't know who they were, except my mom's folks, I figured having some cash on me would...would make it so I could come back. So I couldn't be trapped."

David shrugged.

"But I shouldn't have done it," Jack said again. "And part of the reason I didn't write, didn't try and get in touch with you before, I was ashamed of what I'd done. But I had to come here for business, and hoped to see you...and when I saw Nick yesterday, I knew it was fate. So that even if you won't accept my apology, at least I can give you your money back."

David regarded him for a long moment, then held out his hand, palm open. Jack sighed, reached into his inner pocket for the envelope, and handed it over. David glanced in it, then gawked.

"Where exactly did you get this money?" David asked.

"Honest work." Jack shrugged.

"No, Jack, _I_ do honest work. It doesn't pay like that." David laid the envelope on the table, then slid it across the table, back to Jack. "Don't lie."

"I'm not." Jack slid the envelope back. "My grandparents...they owned land. A lot of it."

"In New Mexico, right?"

"Actually, yeah. The land...Well, land is money, you know?"

"So now you're wealthy." David rolled his eyes. "So what, you're trying to buy us off?"

"No!" Jack said quickly. "No, I just - I figure, the money I took, it was your family's, but it was borrowed from the guys, and...I figure, I can pay you back, and I can pay them back." He nodded at the envelope, still sitting on the table between them. David's finger twitched, brushing the envelope, then pulling back. "Look, David..."

"Oh, damn," David mumbled. Jack blinked, but David wasn't looking at him. He had twisted to look out the window. Jack followed his gaze and saw what he was referring to; some guy, probably around their age, was being hassled just outside the restaurant. He had dark brown red hair, almost brown, freckles across his face, and thin glasses. Jack didn't recognize him, but obviously David did.

The guy who was harassing him was much larger with a neck like a tree trunk. He kept shoving the redhead's shoulder, just hard enough to be menacing, not hard enough to knock him down.

"Excuse me," David said, standing up. He turned to walk towards the door, leaving the money on the table.

"Who's that?" Jack asked, standing too. He picked up the envelope; though he hoped they'd be coming back for the food they'd ordered, it was too much money to leave sitting around.

David sighed as he started walking, and didn't look surprised when Jack dogged his steps. "Sarah's fiance," he answered.


	8. Havana

If Jack hadn't already been suspicious of the policeman, he wouldn't have noticed. But as David walked out, the cop glanced after him and saw the scene outside. Then he glanced back at David and smirked a little, and didn't move.

Interesting.

David pushed through the door and Jack followed quickly, wanting to ask what was going on, but he didn't have time.

The thug shoved Sarah's fiance against the wall of the restaurant and pinned him there by his shoulder, then looked over at David. He kept his spare fist balled as he said, "Jacobs."

David met his gaze. "What...?" he finally asked.

"He owes my employer money. Money which he said he would have two weeks ago, but has not produced."

Jack watched the guy pinned to the wall. He flinched from the words, as though those scared him more than the thug's balled fist. Jack looked back at David, who was frowning.

"I understand that this bum's wedding is tomorrow, to your lovely sister," the thug continued. "It would be a shame were he in no condition to walk down an aisle."

David opened his mouth, shut it, clenched a fist, unclenched it, and finally said in a low voice, "How much?"

"Seventy-five dollars."

The guy winced again. Jack assumed this debt was something he had hoped to keep secret from David, and probably from Sarah as well.

David sighed. "Ari..."

"It's not what you think, Dave!" the guy finally squealed.

"I am growing short on time," the thug said, and looked inside at the cop, who was watching impassively. "Perhaps we could speed things along. You may prefer to look away."

"No!" David interrupted, as the thug pulled his arm back. "No, I...Damn it." He reached for his wallet. "I don't have...I can pay some of it off."

The thug raised an eyebrow.

"The rest...after the wedding, we can..."

Jack cleared his throat. "Excuse me," he said, and sauntered up next to Ari at the wall, as though he was oblivious to the well-muscled arm between him and Ari. "Can I ask how exactly this fine, young gentleman came to be in debt?"

"He gave my boss his marker." The thug finally dropped Ari's shoulder, but Jack anticipated he might bolt, and grabbed his elbow while the guy reached into his pocket. He produced a slip of paper, which read:

_$75 to be paid May 8. _

 

Ari Golden

"May eighth has come and gone," he continued, "and my boss has seen no money from this fellow, so here we are."

"I see," Jack said. He glanced at David, who was watching them wordlessly, his wallet still in hand. "Well, as it happens, Ari here was just waiting to collect from me, see? And here it is." Jack reached into his pocket, pulled out the envelope, and quickly counted out the money. He handed the guy an extra ten. "Sorry about it being late," he added.

The guy gave him a suspicious look.

David cleared his throat. "Which means you guys are square," he said firmly. "And if anyone starts saying different, I'll spread it around town that you're a liar and so's your boss."

The thug nodded and ripped the IOU in half, then dropped the scraps on the ground. He pocketed the cash. "Well, good doing business with the three of you."

"Have a nice day," Jack answered. They stood silently until the thug stalked off, then Ari sagged against the wall and David crossed his arms. Jack glanced back in to the restaurant to see the officer had wandered up to the counter and was having a cup of coffee.

"I, uh, I had better get going"

"Oh, no." David glanced at Jack, who snatched Ari's arm again. "We are going to have a _talk_."

"Dave!" Ari whined, but David narrowed his eyes a tiny bit, and he fell silent.

"First off, you should say thank you," David finally said. "If Jack hadn't been here..." He shook his head. "I certainly didn't have that kind of money on me, and I can't really afford to get involved with Jonesy and his gang."

Ari looked up at Jack, as if seeing him for the first time. He tried to pull his arm free, but Jack held tight, and finally Ari asked, "Who _are_ you?"

"Jack Kelly. Pleased to meet you." Jack kept his voice low, all of the friendliness he'd forced into it gone.

Ari blinked, then stared. "What...What are you doing here?"

"I came to apologize to Sarah." Jack glanced at David, who still looked angry, then gave Ari a slight shove. "I messed up big time with here, but you...well, I won't let this wedding go wrong for her."

Ari glanced frantically over at David, who was scowling. "What the hell were you doing, gambling with...with..." He gestured in the direction the thug had walked off in. "Those people are serious business, Ari! You know what they did to Nathan."

Jack mentally filed that comment away to investigate later.

"Well, II mean, they invited me, Dave! I met 'em, they were...I mean, Jonesy was at one of Nathan's games, he saw me play, he invited me to a big-time game. What was I supposed to say?"

"No, you idiot. You should have said no." David crossed his arms, and Jack resisted the urge to shove Ari again. "You know what Jonesy did to Nathan when he got in debt; you think if Nathan lost to them, you could do any better?"

"He _cheated_ Nathan, and...and..." Ari lost his steam. "Don't tell Sarah, Dave, she'd kill me. Please."

David made a noise of disgust. "If we hadn't been here, you would have been killed."

"Please, David."

"No." David stared him down, and Ari winced again. "You really aren't good enough for her, Ari. You're just lucky she'd rather not be alone."

"Like you?" Ari muttered.

Jack shoved him, harder this time. David didn't react to the comment or the push.

"You listen to me," Jack hissed after a long moment. "I never met you beforeI don't care who you are, one way or the other. What I'm saying is that I owe Sarah, I owe her more than I can pay back. I care about her, see? And, and I'm not going to let you screw up _anything_ for her. Not like I did."

"You"

"Shut up," Jack snarled, leaning down into the guy's face. "I'm telling you now, you screw up anything with Sarah, you wreck her life with, with gambling or anything else, and you'll pay. That's almost ninety bucks you owe me, kid. I don't care much about collecting...unless you screw up. Then I'm coming for you, and the money...and Sarah."

Ari stared. Jack didn't look up at David, but could feel his gaze, like an itch on the side of Jack's neck. "Wh-what?" Ari finally stammered.

"I lost my shot with her. I know that. But if you break her heartif you hurt herI swear to god, I _will_ be here to pick up the pieces. First love is hardest to get over. That's why I'm here." He was ad-libbing now, but could tell by the panic on Ari's face that he'd hit the jackpot. "And if you mess things up, I promise it'll be me she goes back to." He released Ari's arm with another hearty shove. "Keep it in mind."

Ari nodded, wordless, stunned.

"Oh. One more thing." He pulled the envelope back out of his pocket and held it out. "This is hers, what I owe her. There should still be enough in there to cover it."

David gaped a little, but Jack ignored it.

"So you're gonna bring it to her. And if one cent goes missing..."

David nodded. "I know how much is in it," he added, though Jack realized that probably wasn't true. "I'll be sure to ask what she received."

"Right. And if any of it is missing," Jack continued, "you'll regret it. So don't get any ideas about gambling, or anything else."

"And don't think Nathan will let you in to any games anymore," David added.

Ari nodded, defeated, and pocketed the envelope. He didn't even look in to see how much was in it. "I'm sorry, David," he said again. "I...I know I screwed up. But I love her." He looked at Jack. "And I won't screw up again."

"Good," David said firmly, and nodded towards the street. "Walk carefully."

Ari nodded, hesitated like he wanted to say something, but didn't. He just hurried off.

David turned to Jack. "I suppose you want me to thank you?"

"Nah." Jack glanced back into the restaurant. The officer was staring at them, now, his hand clenched around a coffee mug. "What do you say we head back in, and actually eat something?" He glanced at his watch. "You promised me another three, maybe four minutes."

David scowled, but nodded. "I can't _believe_ Ari..." He trailed off, as they walked past the policeman, but Jack got the feeling David had been ranting to himself, anyway. Moments after they sat, the waiter materialized with their food.

"So, uh." Jack hesitated. "Dave, what's the deal with that cop?" He didn't motion towards the guy, but rolled his eyes in that general direction. "He was glaring at us...and he watched the whole thing outside. Didn't move a muscle, though."

David sighed. "That's Lieutenant Brannigan. He..." He bit his lip, and finally murmured, "He blames Thomas for turning his son queer."

"What?" Jack almost choked on his cheesecake.

"Yeah. His son...well, his son turned up at the Hotbox a few times, and Brannigan knew something was going on. He followed him one night, snuck in...usually the guys at the door are really good about not letting in uninvited strangers, but he slipped past. He saw what was happening...He arrested Thomas on the spot."

"Shit," Jack mumbled.

"Yeah. But...well, no one would talk to him, no one would admit anything, and they couldn't get the charges to stick. Thomas was released after a couple of days. Brannigan's desperate to get him again, thoughhim, Nathan, me, anyone he's ever seen up there."

"You?"

"Yeah, well, he knows I'm friends with them. And...and he'd rather arrest Nathan for hosting the game than go after the real criminals. The ones who were about to beat Ari. _They_ get off scot-free, never mind that Nathan's games are two-bit operations compared to them."

Jack shot a long look at the cop, not caring that he was staring now. He memorized the guy's face. "Brannigan, huh?" he murmured. "I got no use for corrupt cops."

"No one does."

"Hey, what...what did you mean before, when you said they did something to Nathan?"

David sighed. He gave Jack a quick explanationNathan got in over his head, got in debt, Thomas had paid off the gang he owed to keep them from skinning himand then glanced at his watch. "Jack, I have to go. Work is crazy today."

"I'll walk you," Jack said quickly. "You work on Fifth, right? Nick told me you were picked special as a speaker for the library dedication."

David nodded. "I...Well, it keeps me busy." He stood up and reached for his wallet, but Jack got to his first and dropped a few bills on the table.

"Your speech is tomorrow?"

David nodded. "Before the wedding."

"I'd like to see it."

"Invite only." David threw him a glance as they walked out. "It's already full, the list was finalized weeks ago, so don't ask."

"Okay," Jack agreed quickly.

They exited the restaurant, and David hurried off. Jack followed and almost asked if David would be willing to meet him again, when David glanced at him.

"Did you mean what you said to Ari?"

Jack bit his lip. "I done Sarah wrong, and you. I owe the both of you. The least I can do is try and scare that guy straight, I figure. If I can't do anything else...at least I can try and keep him from screwing up like I did."

David nodded. "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me, David."

David stopped walking and turned to look at Jack. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, well. You know. It means a lot. Sarah has been through a lot. And you..."

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and mumbled, "The worst part of the last decade was not having my best friend."

"Racetrack?" David suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Jack's lips quirked into a smile. "Yeah, you know, and that other kid. The one with the big mouth who never knew when to shut up. Hey, he won us that strike, you remember that?"

David started walking again, smiling a little bit himself. "Nah, he was forgettable. It was the flashy one who did it. He shouted down Pulitzer, I hear."

"Maybe, but he wouldn't have known what to say without help. A lot of help." Jack took a deep breath. "I missed you, Dave. And I'm sorry."

David nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Well, what do you want me to say? I can't forget. I can't trust you. But I believe that you're sorry. You've paid up Sarah and you scared Ari, hopefully enough to keep him honest. So okay, Jack. I accept your apology."

Jack broke into a grin, and it was all he could do not to grab David and hug him. But a spring came into his step as he walked. "That's the best news I've heard in a long time, Dave. I..."

David shrugged. "Look, I said I accept your apology; don't mistake that for wanting to be your friend."

Jack nodded. "I know. At least for now. But...someday? If I don't screw up again?"

David glanced at him and said nothing for a long time. Jack didn't press it. They walked along sidewalks that Jack remembered a little, but David clearly knew by heart. It was almost funny how now David was city-smart.

"Are you going back to Santa Fe soon?" David eventually asked.

"I live in California now, actually. My granddad got me a job out there. Not on the ranch, but still pretty nice."

"And?"

"Yeah. Day after tomorrow," Jack said.

"Mm." David seemed to consider it, then said, "Write to me. We'll see."

"You'd write back?"

"I suppose I would. If I have the time. I'm very busy, Jack. The library...well, the worst of it will be over after the opening, but the place won't run itself."

"And I'm sure you've got a lady friend or two keeping you busy."

David laughed. "The closest thing I've got to a lady friend is Adelaide."

"That can't be true," Jack insisted.

"Well, one of his back-up dancers has offered to let me take her away from all that. But I don't think she's my type."

"Girls don't know what they're missing, Dave," Jack said, still smiling broadly.

David shrugged in response, and they turned on to Fifth and approached the library. Jack was inwardly impressed by the sweeping stairs, arches, and columns, but what caught his gaze were the covered displays at either side of the staircase. "What're those?"

"Statues," David said. "We unveil them tomorrow."

"What are they?"

David smiled. "Stop by and see. I think you'd really like them."

Jack nodded. "I will before I leave. Definitely."

"Well, I'd better..." David nodded up towards the stairs, but paused. "Will you be at the game tonight?"

"Dunno. I'd like to see everyone, but I don't think Nathan wants me there. I asked him, but who knows?"

"He's stubborn," David agreed.

"Maybe he'd...maybe he'd be more likely to let me in, if you asked."

David considered it, then shrugged. "Maybe."

Jack smiled again. "Either way, it's been really good to see you, Dave." He lifted a hand to rest on David's shoulder, and David didn't pull away. "And...I hope someday, you can forgive me."

David looked up at him for a long second, then finally held out a hand. Jack dropped his own from David's shoulder down to shake his hand. "Maybe I'll see you tonight," David said softly. "Write to me, this time."

"I will," Jack agreed, not wanting to press the forgiveness question, not even for the bet. He didn't give a damn about the bet, not if forgetting about it now meant David might _really_ forgive him later. "I'll see you, Dave."

David nodded. "It was...well, it was good to see you, Jack." He hesitated, then nodded and added, "It really was."

"It was good to see you, too." He hadn't let go of David's hand yet and became very aware of that. David's hands were smoother than his own, callused from writing, no doubt, but not much else.

David abruptly pulled away, and when Jack looked up at his face, it was ever so slightly red. "I have to get back in to work," David said.

Jack nodded. "Good luck with the big speech."

David nodded and turned away, hurried up the stairs. Jack watched him go and heaved a deep breath. It felt almost like the first breath he'd taken in eleven years.


	9. If I Were A Bell

Sarah sighed and tried again to rethread her needle. "It's a shame it was lost, Mama."

"I know, Sarah," Esther murmured, but didn't look up from the hemline she was sewing. They two women were sitting on stiff-backed wooden chairs, Sarah's wedding dress draped over a table between them. It was the dress she had purchased when she was eighteen...But of course, Sarah at twenty-nine did not have the same figure she'd had at eighteen, and some alterations were required.

"I wish I at least had a picture of it. It must have been beautiful, not like this rag."

"What's important isn't what you wear, dear," Esther said. She sounded a little exasperated, though Sarah supposed it was only fair, as she'd been harping on her mother's own long-lost wedding dress for almost an hour. "After all, I left nearly everything I owned in the old country; hardly a sacrifice, when you consider all we have now."

"All _David_ has," Sarah said.

"Your brother is very generous, of course." Esther leaned down to bite the end of a thread off, creating a loud twang noise. "But then, what's an unmarried man to do, except take care of his parents? Sarah, surely Ari has some friendshe has a sister, she must have friends."

"Mama, David _knows_ girls," she said.

Esther sniffed. "At least Les didn't wait for us to be old and grey before giving us grandchildren."

"Yes, Mama, I know." Sarah rolled her eyes.

David had, of course, been the favorite child during the strikeand Sarah had been after, when she and Jack were engaged. Her parents had always adored Jack. But she'd ended up a woman with a reputation after Jack left her, and everyone agreed there was something slightly off about David, never mind his career successsome reason why he wasn't married. Of course, their parents had no idea what it could be, but Sarah had a pretty good guess. So now Les was the favorite. He'd finished school, gotten a job, gotten married, had a kid, and another on the way.

Les was normal. Something both his siblings had given up on years ago.

There was a knock on the door. "Ari again?" Esther suggested. "Wasn't he sweet, bringing you those flowers."

Sarah smiled a little, casting a look at the small bouquet that sat on one of David's bookshelves. As far as Esther knew, Ari had dropped by only to give them to hershe hadn't told her mother about Jack's appearance, or the money. The days when Sarah had no secrets from her mother were long gone.

"It was," Sarah agreed, though she wondered why Ari had been so frantic when he'd arrive. She stood to answer the door and raised an eyebrow, surprised, when she saw Nick Meyers standing outside, hat in hand.

"Good afternoon, Miss Jacobs...Mrs. Jacobs," he said.

Sarah stood aside to let him in. "No need to be formal, Nick, you've known me too long."

"Nicholas Meyers!" Esther waved with her free hand, then reached for another spool of thread. "What brings you all the way here?"

"Well, it is the day before Miss Sarah's wedding," he said. "And several of us have pooled our money in order to buy her a gift."

"Really?" Sarah smiled, and mimed glancing into the hallway, looking for it.

"It's up at the, er...theater," he said, and glanced at Esther. She didn't react particularly. "If you would care to join me, Miss Sarah."

"I..." She hesitated. She'd never actually been to the Hotbox; she was well aware of what kind of theater it was, and of who was the house star, but had never seen it for herself. Her reputation was tarnished enough; she didn't need to be seen spending time with _actual_ whores and queers. But then again, her reputation couldn't get much worse.

So there had been a few men between Jack and Ari. A girl needed affection, didn't she?

"Go on," Esther urged. "Enjoy yourself, dear. Take good care of her, Nicky."

"Of course, ma'am. Don't you work too hard, now." He nodded at the door. "Miss Sarah?"

She reached for a shawl. "Why not?"

They walked outside, headed uptown, for several minutes. "So what's so special you couldn't deliver it?" Sarah finally asked.

Nick grinned. "Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

"Please. You couldn't keep a secret to save your life."

Nick laughed. They both knew it was true. Which reminded her...

"Did you know Jack's in town?"

Judging by the look on his face, Nick had been informed. "I...may have run into him," he finally confessed.

"Me, too."

"Oh?"

"Oh, yes. Actually, he decided to casually drop my our apartment, the cad. The day before my wedding!"

"Manners were never Jack's strong point," Nick said.

"What's he even doing back here? I can't believe he'd dare show his face."

"I got the impression he was going to begin by paying you back."

"Yes, well..." She trailed off. "It was still rude."

"Most definitely, Miss Sarah."

"And why _now_?" she demanded.

Nick shrugged. "He said something about it being for business...didn't say anything else, except it was good luck, everyone else being in town."

"That bastard always was lucky."

"Now, stop scowling. Your wedding's tomorrow, you don't want any wrinkles on that perfect face of yours."

"Wrinkles don't happen overnight."

"You done a lot of frowning in your day, Miss Sarah. Not that you didn't have reason. But things are changing, looking up. So smile, for once."

"You are disgustingly cheerful, Nick."

"I do what I can, Miss Sarah."

The subway trip up to the Hotbox was fairly short, and when they stepped out into the less savory part of town, Sarah noted that Nick walked a little closer, a little more protectively. But it was a short enough walk to the run-down theater, which had no name outside its heavy, wooden doors.

Sarah took a deep breath as Nick led her in, not sure what to expect. The foyer was as ramshackle as the outside had been, with dark, worn carpets and peeling paint. The ticket booth was empty, and Nick simply walked past it, pushed open a door, and gestured in to the theater proper.

It was small and cramped with rows of seats in the back, and a few tables surrounded by chairs in the front. The pit was tiny and crammed into a cavern almost underneath one side of the stage, and on the stage...

They were in the middle of rehearsing a number. Thomas, or Adelaide, as Sarah understood he called himself, was standing at the front, wearing a black sequined leotard, thigh-high stockings with garters, and black gloves. His wig was blond and curly, and crowned by black headband with what Sarah could swear were cat ears on top. Behind him were women dressed similarly, complete with the ears. But then she heard the lyrics to the song and understood a little.

_"Pet me poppa, poppa pet me good...pet me poppa, proper like you should. If you don't want me I'll roam through the citytalk to me prettyhere kitty, kitty!"_

Sarah watched until the end of the number, as Thomas... Adelaide... continued to slink around the stage, gyrating. When the number ended, Nick clapped. He looked up and waved. "Everyone take twentyand I mean _twenty!_ If you're late, you're replaceable!" he yelled, his voice much deeper than it had been pitched when he was singing, then sauntered up to Nick and Sarah.

"Miss Jacobs! So glad you could make it, darling." And now his voice was high again.

"Um...hello," she answered.

"This way, honey." He gestured further down into the theater and off to one side, then led them through a side door into the back of the theater. Sarah followed nervously, not sure what to say, not even sure what to call him.

Two hallways later, he led them into his dressing room, where, in front of the table, a mannequin intended for costumes had been set up. But instead of a costume, it was a wearing a wedding dressone clearly intended for some socialite, given the amount of embroidery and lace it contained. Sarah took a sharp breath. It was gorgeous.

"You like it?"

She stared. "It's amazing. I..."

"It's all yours." ThomasAdelaide_the man in the leotard,_ Sarah finally decidedleaned casually against the table. "From me, and Nathan, and Nick. Our little family."

"It..." She reached out and brushed a hand against the glossy fabric. "It's beautiful."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he demanded, and gestured at the screen at the side of the room. "Try it on! We have an in-house seamstress; she can do any alterations it needs."

She sucked in a deep breath. "I...oh," she murmured. "I don't think I can take this. It must have cost a fortune."

"Don't be silly," he answered quickly. "I got it at a discount. It's a great storyI'll tell you once you've got it on."

"I already have a dress," she said.

"At least try it on," Nick said, smiling broadly. "Miss Sarah, come on. For us?"

"Trying it on couldn't hurt," the blond added.

Sarah hesitated, and finally nodded.

"Excellent!"

"Umm..." Sarah cleared her throat, as they began working to undo the myriad buttons up the dress's back. "What...what should I call you?"

"Oh, honey, you can call me anything you like." He smirked. "I do prefer Adelaide when I'm in costume...but Thomas, if you're more comfortable with it."

She got the feeling that calling him Thomas would be very rude somehow, and nodded. "I wasn't sure."

"I have that effect on people surprisingly often. The first time your brother saw me in a dress...well, it wasn't a dress exactly, it was garters, a corset, and heels... You should have seen his face."

Sarah smiled, imagining. "Bright red."

"Honey, he looked like a tomato. And it was all the way down under his collar... I always wonder, just how far down _does_ he blush?"

"I bet you'd like to find out," Nick said. "Hussy."

Adelaide grinned widely. "Now, now, that's not nice to say in front of his sister. Ah!" He tugged the dress loose from the mannequin and thrust it into Sarah's arms.

"What do you mean?" Sarah asked, walking to the screen. Then she hesitated and turned around to give them a serious look. "Adelaide...Nick, is David queer?"

Adelaide didn't react, but Nick really _couldn't_ keep a secret to save his life.

"I'll take that as a yes," she snorted, and walked behind the screen.

"Nicholas, someday that'll get you in trouble," Adelaide scolded.

"That's why I don't play poker no more," Nick agreed.

"Sarah, honey?" Adelaide called. "Are you okay?"

"I've figured as much for years!" she yelled, as she began to fiddle with her own zippers.

"Well, we aren't certain," Adelaide said. "I mean, he and I have never...I'm not sure he ever has, with anyone. Man or woman."

Sarah blinked.

Of _course_ David was a virgin. He was perfectly responsible and an upstanding member of society. Definitely not a sodomite, whether he wanted to be or not; and he'd never rob some poor girl of her virtue... She reached for the glistening white dress and had a momentary thought about its color, but didn't dwell on it.

"And he's definitely never gone with any of the girls who work here, despite having had quite a few offers from some of our hopeful social climbers," Adelaide continued. "But I know queers all over this city, Sarah, and let me tell younone of them have ever succeeded with him either. He just turns red and excuses himself."

"Mmm."

"Need help with the buttons, honey?"

She started to reply noeven she drew the line at letting a strange man dress herbut decided she just didn't care anymore. It wasn't as though Adelaide had any interest in her body, after all. And the dress had a million tiny, pearl-like buttons. She called out for his help and he appeared, still smiling, and got to work.

"So you _think_ David...?" she asked, pulling her hair out of the way.

"Well, hard to say. Queers come up here for the shows; everyone else does for the whores. David is polite enough to watch the shows, but doesn't seem too interested in them; Lord knows he's not interested in the whores. But yes, I think he's queer."

She nodded. "He was more heartbroken than I was when Jack left."

"You are a sharp one, Sarah," Thomas agreed. "That was how I figured it, too." He shook his head. "I'm betting he never even worked up the courage to ask Jack."

"Jack definitely isn't queer," Sarah said.

Adelaide made a noise of amusement. "Says you." He gave her shoulder a pat. "All buttoned, honey, take a look."

"What do you mean, says you?" Sarah demanded, as they walked out to the mirror over his vanity. She inhaled sharply. The dress hadn't been made for her, not quite, but it was close. Certainly much better for her figure than the one at home was. She smoothed down the skirt and stared.

"Call it wishful thinking," Adelaide answered, smiling. "And a gut feeling. You get a sense of these things eventually, you know, and Jack definitely set off whatever sense I had back then, especially when he was around David. But then he went and got himself engaged to a woman." He shrugged. "Can't be right all the time, I guess. I was right about the important one."

Sarah wheeled around to see that he was no longer talking to herhe was facing the door, where Nathan was now standing. "Hey, Sarah, the dress suits you," he said.

"Thank you." She sighed. "But I really can't"

"Don't be an idiot. The dress maker is a friend of Adelaide's, he sold it to us for cheap when the debutante who was supposed to wear it was knocked up and it didn't fit."

Sarah blinked. "Oh. Well in _that_ case...It is lovely, isn't it?"

"Nicky, be a dear and find our seamstress," Thomas instructed, smiling.

Nick nodded and hurried out. Sarah looked over at Nathan, who had walked to Adelaide's side.

Nathan glanced at Adelaide's outfit. "Back to the cat number?" he asked.

"You don't like it?" Adelaide demanded, then pursed his lips together into a pout.

Nathan grinned. "Of course I like it. I just like the solo acts _better._ Nothing to distract me..." He snaked an arm around Adelaide's waist.

"Right answer," Adelaide murmured. They kissed quickly, then both shot guilty looks at Sarah, who raised an eyebrow. Nathan cleared his throat, but Adelaide just smiled.

Sarah regarded the two of them for a minute, and then smiled back. Her brother's friends were nice enough, but what she really enjoyed was that Adelaide was unashamed. As someone who had overheard gossip about herself for years, she appreciated that.

"So, honey, about the dressthe girl who was supposed to take it, well, it would be _horrible_ to tell you her name." He laughed. "But let's just say, I'm pretty sure the kid won't even be her fiance's."

Nathan smirked. "Well, she had to do something while he was up here, and his brother is much more attractive. Not that I'd ever look."

"Now you have to tell me who," Sarah said.

"Well." Thomas looked around conspiratorially, but before he could say there was a knock on the door. He called for the knocker to enter, and Nick came back in. The seamstress wasn't with him.

Spot Conlon was.

"Look who I found floating around," Nick said.

"Conlon!" Nathan declared.

"Higgins." He paused, then glanced at Adelaide. "What the hell happened to you, Kid?"

"I found my calling."

"As what, a sideshow freak? The bearded lady and the man in the dress! You guys could travel with the circus." He glanced over at Sarah. "Hey, Miss Sarah."

"Hi, Spot."

He tilted his head a little. "Sean Patrick, if you don't mind."

"Sean _Patrick_, la-di-da," Adelaide snapped.

The newly dubbed Sean Patrick rolled his eyes. "Sean, at least. So when's the game, Higgins?" he demanded.

Nathan shrugged. "Later."

"Later, meaning when?"

"Meaning I'll tell you _later_." He glanced at Nick. "There are still some details to be worked out."

"I thought it was a sure thing?" Adelaide asked innocently, his voice high and airy.

"It is," Nathan snapped.

"Mmmhmm."

"Right, well, what's a man s'posed to do 'round this queer hole-in-the-wall in the meantime?"

"We were just admiring Miss Sarah's dress," Nick said.

"Yeah, it's great. Now what?"

"'Scuse me?" The door opened again, and one of the women from the show leaned in. "Adelaide, are we going to be running the farm number later? Because..." She trailed off, then stepped into the room. "What have we here?" She gave Sean an admiring look.

"Sean Patrick Conlon," he said, and stepped a little closer to her. "Just here to visit some old friends."

"Friends? With them?" She sighed. "Not another queer, Adelaide, honestly, what was _with_ you newsboys?"

"I ain't queer!" Sean said quickly. Adelaide raised an eyebrow, looking amused. Sean scowled, then reached out to wrap an arm around the girl's middle, as if to prove himself. She pushed it away, but let his hand linger on her hip.

"Well, we'll see, I suppose," she said with a yawn. "Anyway, Adelaide, the costumes for the farm number are being laundered; they might be dry by show time, but by rehearsal" She stopped talking abruptly, and spun to face Sean. She pointed an angry finger in his face. "That hand goes any lower, stranger, and I'm going to start charging you."

"What's your rate?" he asked.

"That depends. How much do you have?" He grinned and she turned back to Adelaide. "The costumes"

"No, not today," Adelaide interrupted.

"Fine." She nodded and turned back towards the door, then hesitated and glanced over at Sean. "Well, I'll be relaxing before we get back to work...you're welcome to join me, if you're man enough. Friends with these guys, I'd have to wonder."

He made a noise as if he were being strangled. She patted his cheek, shrugged, and sauntered out of the room. Everyone watched her go, because the way she walked was clearly a very deliberate display.

"Wipe the drool off your chin, _Patty_," Adelaide snapped.

"Now _that's_ a dame," Sean answered, still looking at the empty doorway. Then he glanced back at Adelaide, glanced at his wig and outfit for a long moment, and asked, "...Wasn't she?"

"You'll have to find that one out the hard way," Adelaide answered.

Spot hesitated, then shrugged. "I'll take my chances. Where's her dressing room?"

"I'll show youand get the seamstress," Nick declared.

"Hurry back," Nathan told him. "I got work for you."

Nick smiled and shrugged, and led Sean out. Sarah smoothed the skirt of her dress down again and sighed happily. "At least I'll look like a respectable bride."

Nathan's arm was still around Adelaide's waist. "What's so great about being respectable, anyway?" he asked easily.


	10. My Time of Day

David was self-aware enough to know that one of his problemsone of the patterns in his lifewas that he could always tell a smart idea from a stupid one, but he couldn't always force himself to do the smart thing. Like the strike.

Striking had been a stupid idea. David had taken one look at the situation and known that: Pulitzer was rich and powerful, and they had been a bunch of street urchins. But it had felt _right,_ somehow, from the moment he heard his stupid comment echoed back in Jack's more confident voice. But it had worked out, and they'd only been a little worse for wear after.

And now his advice, his practical, smart advice, was to avoid Jack Kelly. To do what he'd said and not be the man's friend. At most, to civilly exchange letters, perhaps to send Jack a Christmas card once a year. He was not kidding himself; he knew Jack was a self-centered liar, and not only capable of using and then disposing of friends, but _likely_ to do it, should it suit him. Jack's betrayal of a decade ago still hurt, and David knew the smart thing was to keep Jack at arm's length.

But seeing Jack...David took a deep breath. He shut the door to his office and sat behind his desk. Though the dedication wasn't until the next day, the library was abuzz with lifededication plans had all been finalized long ago, of course, so at this point all David really had to do was ensure that no last-minute problems came up. But problems had been coming up for weeks, especially since President Taft himself had agreed to be the Master of Ceremonies. Even with plans as close to final as they'd ever get, David's job was still vital.

David shut his eyes and tried not to remember what Jack had said.

_"The worst part of the last decade was not having my best friend."_

But of course, his brain insisted on playing it through his memory, over and over again. He swallowed, wishing that he'd never heard it. Because the absolute worst part of Jack leavingnot counting Sarah's broken heart, he reminded himselfwas that there had never been _anyone_ in his life who had made him feel like Jack had. He'd never had a best friend before the day Jack had introduced himself. None of the boys he'd gone to school with had liked him all that much (he couldn't even remember how many times he'd been called a know-it-all and a mama's boy before the strike, but sadly did recall how bored he'd been by the boys at school after); and while all the newsies had been great, he hadn't had a connection with anyone else the way he had with Jack. Jack, who in the almost two years they'd been friends had been his _best_ friend.

Except not. Because Jack had left, had walked away without apology or explanation, had just disappeared. And no matter how many times David reminded himself that it was Sarah Jack had truly left, he couldn't help but feel like...it was him, somehow, it was his fault Jack had gone. Which meant that everything he'd felt had been a lie. A delusion he'd reveled in because it felt good to think that someone like Jack might think that about him.

He'd spent the last decade not just feeling hurt and alone, but so _stupid._

But what Jack had said...David was smart enough to know it was a lie, of course it was. Jack had always known exactly what to say to get what he wanted; now, clearly, he wanted something from David, and dropping that best friend comment was the way to get it. Jack knew that, David was sure.

So now his smart side was warring with his other side, and though David wouldn't have admitted it aloud, the smart side was losing ground every time he remembered that stupid sentence. Every time he thought those words, pictured how sincere Jack had looked...

"Mr. Jacobs? Mr. Jacobs!"

A middle-aged woman, red in the face from running, threw open the door to his office, and pulled David out of his daze. "President Taft's aide arrived to finalize the plans! And Judith just got back from the caterer, and she says the order is all wrong, and Mr. Gaynor has just sent word that he's including five more people! Mr. Jacobs, I just don't know _what_ to do, I"

"Mrs. Guidry," he interrupted, "it will all be fine. I made sure we had more space and more chairs than we thought we'd need; we can certainly accommodate the mayor's extras. I have to go to this meeting; please make a list of what went wrong at the caterer, I'll head over myself to straighten it out as soon as I can, and I'll make sure that the new people will have something to eat at lunch." He stood up and clapped her shoulder on the way by. "Please make sure I'm not interrupted."

She sighed. "What would we do without you, Mr. Jacobs? You know, my daughter is"

"I have to go this meeting," he said quickly, stepping away from her.

He took a deep breath and told himself to focus on work. The library opening was more important than anything he'd done in a very long time...certainly more important than Jack Kelly.

*

The seamstress had placed her pins and made her cuts, and Sarah reluctantly changed out of the dress. Sean still hadn't returned, and Adelaide declared that he had to head back to rehearsal. "I have to set a good example, you know," he murmured. "Laverne had better be back, too. Making cash on the side is no excuse to miss your entrance."

Nathan smirked. "Well, if she is back on time, I suppose that says something about Conlon, huh?"

"Says _what_ about _who,_ Higgins?"

Nathan spun to see Sean had returned, standing in the doorway. But he didn't look too unhappy about the comment. His tie was loose, he was tucking in his shirt as he walked in, and a red splotch that might have been lipstick or might have been something else was clear on his neck.

Adelaide rolled his eye. "How positively vulgar."

"Yeah, you'd think so," Sean muttered. "At least it was natural."

"So how much lighter is your wallet?" Adelaide smirked as he made his way out into the hall.

"He likes to have the last word," Nathan said, smiling in response to Sean's scowl.

Sean didn't look too amused. "Well, Higgins, where the hell is the game tonight, huh?"

"I said I'll tell you _later._ You're bored, go down to Penn and pick up guys as they come in."

"I ain't your errand boy."

"Then stop complaining. I'll tell you when I feel like it." Nathan turned to Nick, while behind the screen, Sarah finished buttoning her plain brown dress. "Nick, I got a job for you; walk with me a second, huh?" They stepped into the hallway.

"I'll have this finished in a few hours," the seamstress said to Sarah. "I know that Nathan will be at your wedding, dear, I'll send him down early with it."

"Thank you so much." She smiled and hurried towards the door, then turned and glanced at Sean. "Jack's in town."

"Kelly?" He raised an eyebrow. "No kidding. Last I heard..." He trailed off.  
"What?" she asked, interested. Sean had stuck around for another year after Jack had run off; if he'd heard anything more recent than that, she definitely wanted to know what.

"Eh, not too much. I heard his name a few times through the grapevine...I heard Jacky-boy was doing all right for himself out west."

"Evidently." She scowled at the thought. "Well."

"Yeah, well."

They regarded each other, but neither had much to say. They'd never been friends, particularly, though she'd managed to keep a vague idea where he'd gone after he'd left the city.

"I'm going to ask Nick to walk me home," she said. "So I'd better..."

"Yeah, hey, have a nice wedding, okay?"

"Hopefully." She sighed. "Keep your fingers crossed that _this_ groom shows up."

Sean laughed and Sarah walked out, following the sound of Nathan's and Nick's voices down the hall. They were out of sight and she couldn't quite make out the words at first.

Then she heard, and she stopped in her tracks, listening.

"Look, it shoulda been a sure thing, but I forgot Dave's such a sap. I just need you to trail 'im, see what's going on. I ain't gonna let Kelly lie about _this_ one, no way."

"And you need the money."

"Shut it, Nicky. Lookjust keep on 'im. An' if he and Dave start to look too friendly, break it up, you got it? If you wanna see the guys, we gotta win this bet."

"It just don't feel quite right. I mean, if you win fair an' square, that's one thing, but..."

Sarah turned the corner and walked up, arms crossed over her chest. They both turned guiltily towards her. "What bet?" she asked.

"Nothing," Nathan said easily.

A little too easily, Sarah decided. She cast a glance at Nick, who looked nervous. "You were talking about Jack," she pressed. "And David."

Nathan shrugged. "We're friends with Davidnot Jack. Can't believe he'd show his face around here."

Sarah barely listened to Nathan, just watched as Nick's face grew more and more concerned. She watched him try and take a deep breath and smile, but a second later the smile was gone and the shifting eyes were back as he watched Nathan for clues as to what to do or say.

"So what kind of bet involves David?" she asked. "And Jack? And NathanI know you're lying. David might be a sap, but _I'm_ not. What is going on?"

Nathan said nothing, but it was only a few moments before Nick cracked. "He didn't _mean_ nothing by it, Miss Sarah! It's just a, a friendly bet. A gentleman's bet, basically. With Jack."

She glanced at Nathan, who was scowling. The look on his face plainly said that this conversation was not going to end well for Nick.

"What did he bet?" she demanded.

"Sarah, I"

"Shut up, Nathan."

He did, and shifted his weight a little. He glanced down at the floor looking...well, guilty. And if he was guilty, that was a bad sign. She stared down Nick, who finally coughed.

"It's just, Miss Sarah, Jack...well, Nathan bet 'im that he couldn't get David to forgive him, and if Nathan wins, Jack's gotta get lost for good. And for the money we need to host the game tonight, so he didn't have a choice, Miss Sarah. He had to do something."

Sarah turned to Nathan, who winced visibly. "It wasn't quite like that. I"

"You placed a _bet_ on my _brother's emotions?_ Youyou're the reason he was at our apartment this morning, aren't you?" She actually laughed then, a short, bitter cackle. "Of course. Here I almost believed Jack wanted to apologize to me, but it was never about me, was it? He always cared so much more about David." She clenched a fist. "And even now...I can't believe you, Nathan. I thought you were David's friend."

"Sarah, I didn't mean for it to hurt you, I"

"Hurt me? No, that was just a fact, _Racetrack._ Jack always cared more about David. That doesn't hurt me, not anymore." She didn't mention the fact that it had hurt for years before the pain faded to dull irritation. "It's David who's going to get hurt when he thinks that Jack's being sincere. David _is_ a sap and I can't believe you'd set him up to deal with a liar like Jack. For _money."_ Disgust dripped from the last word.

"That's not what I wasI didn't mean it to happen like that!"

"Then how did you mean it?" Her words were clipped, short and furious. Nathan fell silent and she turned sharply and started stalking down the hall, not really knowing the way out, but wanting to get away from him.

"Wait!" Nathan finally called, and he hurried to catch up with her. "I'm sorry, I am. I'll call it off. I'll go find Jack now and"

"It's too late." She shook her head. "They had lunch hours ago. And David..." She trailed off. David would probably have forgiven Jack for everything by now; he was probably in some kind of happy daze, smiling like an idiot. "I'm going to have to tell David," she snapped.

"No," Nathan said. "Please, Sarah, it'll just hurt"

"Jack is lying to him, manipulating him for money. He needs to know that." She narrowed her eyes. "This is your fault. Don't you dare show up at my wedding." She started walking angrily again.

"Sarah, please"

"No. And I don't need your gift, either." It hurt to say that, but she ignored it. She'd rather have a shabby, ill-fitting dress than a present from Nathan, probably bought with money he was making off her brother's humiliation.

It took her several minutes of wandering backstage to find an exit, but she stormed out alone, dreading seeing David that evening.


	11. I've Never Been In Love Before

Nick watched Sarah storm out guiltily. Nathan turned sharply and glared at him, and Nick literally dragged his feet as he walked up the hallway to meet him. Nathan immediately cuffed the back of his head, and Nick winced, though Nathan hadn't hit him very hard. It didn't actually hurt, but Nick got the message; he probably shouldn't have said anything.

But Sarah had looked so _mad_, and it was obvious she'd realized something was going on. He just hadn't seen the point in pretending when they all knew Nathan had been up to no good. And besides, he didn't like lying. It wasn't nice.

"You stupid sap," Nathan snapped and stomped off.

"You still want me to go track down Jack?" Nick asked, following him.

"What the hell's the point now? Jack'll never pay up. The bet's ruined." Nathan scowled. "We're back at square one, thanks to your big mouth, and I've got Conlon breathing down my neck and everyone else will be here soon. Thanks a lot, Nick."

"I'm sorry, Nathan. I didn't mean it. I just...I don't like to lie."

"You could at least learn when to keep your trap shut!"

"Sorry, Nathan. But she was so mad"

"She wouldn't have been if you'd let me calm her down!"

"How were you gonna do that?" Nick asked.

Nathan scowled. "How the hell should I know what I'd have done? You went and ruined it. You ruined _everything_."

Nick tried very hard to keep his face neutral, but when Nathan looked at him and heaved a huge sigh, he realized he'd probably failed. He hadn't _meant_ to ruin everything. He just hated it when people yelled.

"Don't worry about it, Nick," Nathan finally mumbled. "I'm just...frustrated, you know? I been trying to put together this gamethis, this reunionfor weeks. And between Brannigan and Jack, it just don't look like it'll happen, now."

"You'll find a way to make it happen," Nick said optimistically.

"Yeah." Nathan took a deep breath. "I guess I'd better. Everyone came all the way here, and I don't think sitting around at Mindy's all night is what they came for."

"The cheesecake is awful good, though," Nick said, smiling. "Don't worry about it, Nathan, everyone just wants to see each other. They don't care if there's no game."

"Yeah, but..." He trailed off, looking around, and finally confided, "Look, if I don't start to get Thomas paid back soon, he's... Well, you seen how mad at me he always is. An' I don't want to take advantage of the guys, but if I can win just a little, you know, and find somewhere I can have the game from now on, it's worth something. I can't lose him, Nick. He's all I got."

Nick knew he was a sap, but couldn't help it. He broke into a grin and had to restrain himself from pulling Nathan into a hug. Instead, he said, "Well, what do we got to do to find somewhere, then? Just tell me what to do, Nate. I want to help."

Nathan smiled wanly. "I know you do, Nicky. I guess it's just...back to the streets. See if anyone can be bought offbut we can't pay upfront. We just gotta find somewhere, Nick. Anywhere."

Nick nodded. The city was huge. There _had_ to be _somewhere_ they could play; somewhere cheap and hidden, where Brannigan would never think to look. He just had to find it.

*

Public School No. 84 was a bust. Nathan had hosted a few games therea janitor would leave the gymnasium unlocked so they could get in and out, and he'd do it for cheap, too. But when Nick had hung around waiting for him, he'd heard the bad news: Jonesy wanted to use the place, and he wanted to do it exclusively. He was no fan of competition, and he could afford to pay more than double what Nathan was.

McKlosky's Bar was another place where they had held the game on more than a few occasions. The bar had an absurdly large stockroom out back, packed with crates of booze. McKlosky himself had passed away years ago, but his widow was an old dame who saw the potential for profit everywhere. She'd been happy enough to let Nathan host the game in her stock roomfor a reasonable cut. But she had also agreed to play lookout, a problem because she'd gotten so caught up in breaking up a bar brawl (Nick was amazed, for an old dame she moved fast) she hadn't noticed the plainclothes sneaking in. She sounded the alarm just in time, and everyone had run for it. No one got booked that night, thankfully, but it had been a close thing.

Mrs. McKlosky wasn't reliable enough, and Brannigan knew to watch her. The bar was a no-go.

As Nick haunted the streets, dodging cops when he saw them (certain Brannigan had told them all to keep an eye out for him, Nathan, and Benny), he began to give up hope. The warehouse they sometimes broke into had a new lock, and a sturdier one. The soup kitchen was condemnedthey might have risked it, but a cop was standing outside looking around intently. Nick had spotted him and kept walking down the road, not stopping to look around.

Everywhere he turned, everywhere he went, another roadblock. He kicked a stone across some cobbles in frustration, not even bothering to look where he was anymore. He kept his eye open for bulls, and even sometimes bothered to look around to see if there were any derelict warehouses around. He let his feet carry him and didn't bother to pay much attention to the streets he was crossing over until his stomach began to grumble.

Then he looked up and his eyes widened. Without paying attention, he'd wandered downtown, past the _Times_ building and its square, all the way to Newspaper Row. And his feet, consulting his stomach but not his brain, had carried him down to a familiar corner, where once upon a time there had been a cheap, greasy diner called Tibby's.

Tibby's was gone, though; Nick didn't know when it had closed its doors, but it its place was some kind of fabric shop. Instead of booths teeming with street kids, he saw bolts of different colored fabrics and a few sewing machines through the window. He sighed.

It was true; you could never go home again. And no matter what, this place had been part of his homeTibby's, the _Journal_ distribution office, and good ol' Number Nine Duane. He hadn't been back to this area in years, almost since he'd left it; it was just too depressing too look around and not see enough familiar faces. His friends had all been the older kids in the lodging house; he'd been one of the last to move out. There hadn't been anything left to stay for.

"Hey, Mister, buy a pape? It's me last one, I'm just tryin' to make enough to eat."

Nick broke into a grin and reached for a nickel in his wallet. The kid in front of him was young and skinny. He looked well-fed enough to Nick's eye (and years as a newsie himself had taught him the difference between a kid who was genuinely starving and one who was faking it for sympathy), but what was he going to do?

"Yeah, sure, here ya go," Nick said kindly. The kid handed him the paper and hurried off.

Now that Nick bothered around, he could see the street was teeming with newsboys. It was early evening, so most of the kids would be heading home. There must have been a place or two where they could eat around. He walked down a block, then another, keeping his eyes open for it, but the next thing he knew he was staring at the familiar square.

He almost gasped: it all looked the same. The kids were different, but he must have seen the house in this lighting a thousand times or more. He'd be strolling into the square with Blink and Race and Jack, and he never even stopped to look at it. But at that moment, Nick could swear the every cobble was familiar, every shingle hanging loose off the roof, even the shutter banging in the breeze. And the babble

"Musta sold a hundred today, I swear!"

"Ya did not, ya bum, you only bought fifty."

"Hey, my marbles are missing!"

"I bet they are."

"No, someone stole 'em! I mean it!"

"Hey, you guys clear away, we need that puddle for a base! Come on, someone's gotta pitch, you guys, I ain't doin' it again..."

The kids even looked familiar. So the one with the buck teeth wasn't really Snitch; so no one had on a cowboy hat. He was staring at his childhood.

"Mister? You okay?"

The voice came from a youngster who'd been doing some kind of handstand, who stopped to stare at him. Nick nodded, smiling. "Yeah, kid, I'm great. I used to live here."

The kid regarded his suit, then said, "Nuh uh. You never sold a pape in your life, I'll bet."

"Did so." Nick couldn't keep the grin off his face. "Oh, eleven...twelve years ago, somewhere around there."

"Yeah, right." The kid's voice dripped amused disbelief. "Heck, you'd have been a _striker_, then."

"I was." Nick grinned. "Ain't never seen anything in my life as sweet as that crowdyou could hear Jack echo for miles when he yelled it. 'We beat 'em!'" Nick remembered. "An' the crowdup in cheers, screaming at the top of our lungs. Deaf as he was, I bet even Pulitzer heard _that_."

A group of kids had gathered around.

"You really...?" the kid asked.

"Hey, I know," added another, slightly older, newsboy. He had pushed his way through the gathering crowd; he was tall and gangly and seemed to be made mostly of elbows and knees. But the kids all looked at him with expressions that were also familiar to Nickmild awe and certainty that this kid had the answer.

Exactly how they'd all looked at Jack.

"Hmm?" Nick asked.

"If he was in the strike, Isaac'll know 'im, won't he?" the kid said. There was a general roar of agreement and excitement, and Nick couldn't suppress a smile, either. It felt good to think that kids today were still talking about what they'd done over a decade ago.

"Who's Isaac?" Nick asked, as he obligingly let the kids lead him across the square.

"He pretty much runs this joint," the skinny kid said. "And he says he was in the strike, too. He knows all about it." He pointed towards the lodging house. "He's right over there."

Nick squinted against the setting sun and followed the kid's finger, then broke into an illuminating grin. Isaac was sitting on the front stoop of the house itself, overseeing a game of marbles among some kids whose ages clearly hadn't yet hit the double digits. Nick recognized him instantly; his soft eyes and long nose gave him away even before Nick noticed the crutch resting on the stoop next to him or heard his still-distinct laugh. Nick couldn't have mistaken that laugh, not even after a decade.

"_Crutchy_!" he yelled jubilantly and broke into a jog, hurrying towards his friend. Isaac, hearing his childhood nickname, looked upand upon spotting Nick broke smiled widely and waved.

Nick stopped in front of him and offered him a hand up, which Isaac accepted. It was a motion they'd gone through a million times, growing up; one of the boys hefted him to his feet while he grabbed for his crutch so he'd be able to stand firmly.

"MushMush Myers! I don't believe my eyes! I ain't seen you inin years, look at you! Nice suit, Mush, but last I knew you was workin' in a factory...?"

"Well, I was," Nick said. "But I didn't like it much...and I got a better offer," he added evasively, not sure how much Isaac knew about what had happened to Thomas in the years since he'd quit selling papers. He was sure he sounded shifty, like he was lying, but unlike Nathan and Sarah, Isaac didn't seem to notice. "I mean, it's just runnin' errands, but the pay's decent. What about you, you still hangin' around here?"

"Where else was I gonna go? Not a lot of jobs around for a gimp. One day, Kloppman just sort of asked me to help him out with some of the kids, and I been helpin' around here ever since." He shot Nick a grin. "It's a fine life, Mush."

"And Kloppman?" Nick asked, not expecting much.

"Well, he's blind as a bat and deaf as a post, but"

"You mean he's still _alive_? He musta been 85 when I was here!"

"Sounds about right," Isaac said, leading the way inside the still-familiar building. Nick glanced around: the lights were brighter now, and the place had been painted. Some of the furniture was splintered and cracked, stuff that looked old enough that it could have been around when Nick lived there, but some pieces looked newer. Kloppman's old desk was still in its spot, and a dusty tomethe record book, which each kid signed in to every nightstill sat on it, awaiting the evening's signatures.

"I had no idea! If I'd know, if I'd realized you were still here, I'd have come back to visit for sure."

"Nah," said Isaac. "No one comes back. I been here almost my whole life, and probably only three or four guys ever came visit after leaving."

"You don't miss everyone?"

"'Course I do. I miss my friends, and I miss my boys after they leave. But that's just the way it is."

Mush chewed on his lip for a second, then said, "You know who I work with? Racetrack and Blink."

"That's great!" Isaac answered, leading Nick back to what must have been his private room. "You know, I think I seen Dave in the papes a few times."

"Yeah," Nick agreed. "He's workin' on the library. I see him sometimes, too, just to say hi."

"I _do_ miss 'em," Isaac said. They settled down in his roomIsaac into a comfortable looking chair, and Nick sat awkwardly on the neatly-made bed. "If they ever want to, you guys could come down here and say hi."

"We will." Nick smiled. "Definitely. Actually, a bunch of the other guys are coming into town to visit."

"When?" Isaac asked, his eyes lighting up.

"Well...tonight, really. Trouble is, we got nowhere to put 'em."

"What's that mean?"

Nick gave him the short versionhe didn't mention Jack. Isaac had been as crushed as everyone else when Jack deserted them. He just explained about the game Nathan had promised everyone, how no matter where they tried to go, Brannigan was following them, how he'd find an excuse to arrest Thomas and Nathan even if they weren't playing anything illegal, unless they were well hidden.

Afterwards, Isaac said, "Interesting."

"Not quite the word I'd use for it."

"Well...It's just..." He glanced around, like he thought someone might be listening in. "Look, if this was just my place, I'd tell you guys to all come here in a second. It's just, Kloppman... He never got over Jack leaving."

"Most of us didn't."

"Nah, you guys are mad," Isaac said. "Kloppman, he...well, he always thought of Jack like a son. If there was one guy who I know he wishes would come back, it's Jack. I think seein' everyone else, but not Jackwell, he's pretty frail, you know? I don't know what he'd think of that."

"But what if Jack was with us?" Nick asked.

"Hmm..." Isaac said, thinking.

*

By the time Nick had made his way up to the Hotbox, a few gentlemen were already arriving for the evening's show. Mixed in with the crowd, Nick saw a few aged but still familiar faces. He smiled, but walked straight up to Nathan at the bar.

"Well?" Nathan asked tonelessly.

"I got some good news and some bad news," Nick said. "Good news is, I found us somewhere to have the game. Even better, the owner won't charge us nothin'!"

Nathan's eyes lit up. "That's great, Nicky! Where?"

Nick grinned. "Believe it or not...Ol' Nine Duane. Kloppman says he ain't never hosted a reunion before, and so what if there's a little illegal gambling going on while everyone catches up."

"You're a genius, Nicky, I mean that."

"Yeah, you won't in a second. I ain't told you the bad news yet."

"What's the bad news?"

Nick sighed. "Bad news is, Kloppman says no Jack...no deal."

Nathan groaned.


	12. Take Back Your Mink

Sarah looked at the pillars in front of the library with a mixture of awe and pride. The library really was an impressive buildingand the fact that her brother was the one who'd overseen its content, readied it for use, who could claim responsibility for so much of it...It was easy to forget, so much of the time, that David really was so brilliant, so talented. He was unfortunately modest and it made it easy to overlook his abilities.

The front door wasn't locked, but a guard was standing inside. "The library isn't open to the public yet, ma'am," he said firmly as she poked her head in.

"I'm aware, thank you. David Jacobs is my brotherI need to talk to him."

The guard frowned, then led her to David's office to wait. One of the other committee members came in and explained that he was in a _very_ important meeting, just _couldn't_ be interrupted, but he'd be along when he could. As she waited, Sarah tried to figure out how to explain what she'd learned. There was no good way of putting it.

David finally walked in, looking exasperated. "Sarah!" he said abruptly. Evidently, no one had told him she was waiting. "Hello. Did Ari make it home with"

"Yes," she said. "And hopefully that puts Jack Kelly out of our lives forever."

David smiled a little. Sarah knew that look. This was going to be harder than she'd thought.

"Well, maybe not forever. He's leaving the city in a day or two, though. I'm sure you won't have to see him again," David said.

"And neither will you."

David shrugged. "Actually, Jack and I talked a little, and"

"David." Her voice was harsh; there was no way to say it nicely, so she wouldn't. He needed to hear it. "Jack is lying to you."

"About what, writing to me from California?"

"Probably. Why would you even want him to?"

"Because he's my friend," David answered defensively. "And he's fully aware of how he messed up, but"

"Of _course_ he'd tell you he knows! And of course he'd tell you he's sorry. Of course he'd promise not to lie to you anymore. David. It's Jack. He'll say just about anything to get what he wants from you, you know that."

"What could he possibly want from me, Sarah?" David asked. "I mean, honestly. There's absolutely nothing I can give him."

"Except forgiveness."

"What's so wrong with him wanting to be forgiven?"

"What's soDavid, he left me at the altar! He stole over two hundred dollars from his friends. And he think you'll just forgive him."

"He doesn't think that."

"Yes, he does." She crossed her arms. "David, he _does_. He made a bet on it. With Nathan."

David blinked. "What?"

"He bet Nathan a thousand dollars he'd be able to get you to forgive him." Sarah sighed. "David, I didn't...I had to tell you."

"He..." David trailed off, then shut his eyes. He took a deep breath, then another, before he opened them again. "Of course he did. I don't even know why I'm surprised." He spread his hands on his desk and leaned over it, looking down. He took a deep breath.

"David..." Sarah said, frowning. He looked up and took another breath. "It's half Nathan's fault," she added, feeling that she had to, somehow.

"Mmm." He straightened up and began to pace across his office.

"I'm sorry, David," she said.

"No. Thank you," he answered sharply. "I needed to remember that heI needed to know. But I have a lot of work to do, I should get back to it."

"Are you sure? I could keep you company..."

"I'll be fine." He gave her a smile, but she knew it was forced. "I need to get some things finished so I'll be home for dinner tonight."

She nodded. They weren't having a big rehearsal for the wedding, given that it was the lowest-cost wedding they could manage. Instead, it was just their family; Esther and Mayer, David, Sarah and Ari, and Les with his wife, Rachel, and their son, Joseph. They'd been worried when the date of the library opening and the date of the wedding had turned out to be the same (and neither could be changedthe library not at all, and the wedding not without large fees) and David had confessed he might not be able to make it. It was important to them all; the family was close-knit. So Sarah understood.

But even so, she got the feeling that telling David might not have been the kindest thing she'd ever done.

*

Thomas regarded himself in the mirror and was almost surprised by what he saw. With no make-up, without his hair slicked back, wearing a regular shirt with a tie and everything...He looked normal. Masculine. Almost. Still, perhaps, neater than most men, and he had to remind himself what it had been like to move as a boy growing up.

Being feminine was a skill he'd acquired easily; he wondered sometimes how much of his newsboy bravado had been real and how much had been a way to survive. After all, no one questioned the kid who was quicker to fight than to think. And by the time his friends had realized why he was so keen to share a bunk overnight, no one quite dared say anything.

It had felt very natural at the time. But then, so had wearing an eyepatch, which was also not an entirely normal habit. He looked down at the ancient scrap clenched in his hand, then slid it into a pocket. He wanted to be forgettable and inconspicuous; the eyepatch wouldn't help. It was just a comfort thing, a crutch. He'd stopped wearing it when he'd started wearing dresses, and the thought of going out in public with neither made him feel naked.

But still. He owed Sarah and David this. He picked up the packageSarah's dress, alterations complete and wrapped up neatlyand started out. The sunlight felt strange as he walked through it. It had been months since he'd last been outside. Living right above the theater and worrying that Brannigan was waiting around every corner had made him paranoid, and having Nathan to run his errands had made it all too easy to lock himself away.

He took a deep breath.

The trip to David's apartment wasn't so long, though he did spend the whole thing waiting to see an officer jump out at him. But none did, and no one even looked sideways at him. So he was almost calm when he rapped on David's door.

Les answered, to his surprise. At twenty, Les was the tallest of the three Jacobs children, and in Thomas's rather expert opinion, the best looking. He lacked David's sincerity, a trait that combined with curls did a lot for him, but Les was broad-shouldered and had lovely eyes. Which Thomas tore himself away from when he realized Les didn't recognize him.

"Can I help you?" Les asked.

"Yes...I think. Is Sarah around?"

"Who are you? Why would you be looking for her?" he asked defensively.

"Thomas Ballatt. Actually, you used to call me Blink." He gestured at his bad eye. "I've got a wedding gift for her, is all."

Les finally nodded and let him into the apartment. David was nowhere to be seen, but a woman who wasn't Sarah was sitting with Esther, talking cheerily; Thomas assumed she was Les's wife. Mayer was out of the room, and Sarah stood in the doorway to a bedroom.

"Miss Jacobs?" he asked nervously.

She looked around the room, glancing at her mother, and finally said, "Good afternoon, Thomas. I should have known you'd drop by."

"Another friend? It's lovely how much people care about you, Sarah," her mother said.

Thomas smiled. Esther had always been kind to the newsies. She didn't recognize him any more than Les had, but that was fine. He didn't need her to ask questions about where he'd disappeared to, after all.

"Could I have a word with you?" Thomas asked.

Sarah nodded and gestured out to the hallway. He stepped out and waited; he heard her have a short conversation with Les, but couldn't make it out. Then she appeared and shut the door behind her.

"If this is about Nathan or Jack, I don't want to hear it," she said quickly. "And if that's the dress, I don't want it."

"It is the dress, and I'll leave it here for you, in case you change your mind." He tried to press it into her arms, but she crossed them over her chest and glared. So he set it down on the floor of the hallway instead. "Actually, this is about Nathan and Jack. A little."

Sarah didn't look impressed. He continued quickly.

"The thing about that betit was stupid. Nathan can be remarkably insensitive; if anyone knows that, it's me."

"I'll _bet_."

He smiled. "You can imagine, I'm sure. But in all honesty, it was my idea. _Not_ the bet," he specified quickly, "but encouraging Jack to talk with David. It was my idea, and I think it was important, and I hope you didn't tell David about this yet so I can explain why."

"Too late," she said disdainfully, and turned towards the door.

"Wait," he pleaded. She paused. "It's justyou'd know better than I would that David...What he's capable of. What kind of good he can do. He could run for mayor, Sarah. He could be _president_. You know that."

Her hand slipped from the doorknob and she turned to look at him. "So?" she demanded. She sounded angry; he was pretty sure he'd hit a sore spot with her.

"What I'm saying is that David could do that, could do anything he wanted. But he won't. And I _know_ he won't, because guys who can do what David can, they don't visit the Hotbox." He took a breath. "They aren't friends with people like me."

"Queers?" Sarah muttered.

"Yes. But," he continued, "it's not just that Nathan and me are queer. It's...David's tied himself to the past, the strike. Convinced himself he can't do anything big alone."

"The library is big."

"The library is _quiet_. It's important, but it doesn't change things. Tell me right now if I'm wrong, but I think David could change the world."

Sarah's silence confirmed her agreement.

"Something went wrong with him when Jack left," Thomas said carefully. "He lost all his confidence. And now _I'm_ the most successful of his friends, and I used to be a prostitute, for Christ's sake. So I just thought that if David could confront Jack, he might get past whatever's holding him back and be what we _both_ know he can."

Sarah didn't say anything. He sighed.

"Well, that's...that's what I came to tell you. And there's your dress; you're welcome to it, and I understand if you don't want me or Nathan or Nick at your wedding. Take it anyway, please. And..."

"What?" she demanded, sounding cross.

"Tell David, if he still wants to come to the game tonight, it's at the old lodging house."

"Will Jack be there?"

Thomas nodded. "I think so, yes. But why should he let that stop him?"

"I'll tell him."

"Thank you."

"And Thomas..." She hesitated, then nodded, like she was sure of herself, "_you_ are welcome at my wedding."

"I don't come without Nathan, Sarah. He can be hurtful, but I love him."

She shrugged. "Your decision."

"Best of luck, Sarah."

"Have a nice evening, Thomas."

He let himself out of the building, and hurried back home. His skin felt strange without makeup and he had to warm up before the show.

*

David arrived at dinner late, but was quickly led over to the table where his family was waiting. He threw on a smile for his family, trying to remind himself that this was supposed to be a special night.

"David!" Sarah smiled and passed him a glass of wine. "We were actually about to toast."

"Thanks." He smiled. "I'm sorry I was late. Last minute crises of all kinds."

"I'm sure you handled it," Esther said. "We're so proud of you, honey."

"So much big news," Mayer mused, pouring wine into David's glass. He hoisted his own and so did the rest of the family, except for Joseph. "To Sarah's future. And David's success."

They toasted and drank.

"Maybe now that the library's opening, you'll have time for a social life, hm, David?"

David sighed. "Mother, when I meet someone, you'll be the first to know."

"I just worry, Davey. And besides, with three children, I should have what, ten, eleven grandchildren? Only having one at my age. Well."

"I'm sure Sarah will be quick to help you with that, Mother." He rolled his eyes and cast a look at Josephand at Les. Who was looking at his wife, smiling blissfully. And for just a moment, David hated them. He'd never had that, someone he loved like that. He'd never met any woman he wanted to do more than chat with. And he was beginning to doubt he ever would.

Somehow, he didn't feel any better when Rachel announced shyly, "Actually, Mother, you can start getting used to saying you have two."


	13. Adelaide's Lament (Reprise)

When Thomas returned to the Hotbox, he found his dressing room was being used as a lounge. Sean was there, smoking and drinking a scotch. Nathan, who would normally have been out at the bar greeting customers, was pacing back and forth. Nick was standing quietly against a wall, looking nervous.

"You told 'im?" Nathan was asking Nick, as Thomas walked in.

"Yeah, I told 'im to show up. An' I told 'im David knows by now...Don't he, Thomas?"

Thomas was already pulling off his tie. "Yes."

Nathan sighed. "I screwed up pretty bad on this one."

Thomas threw his tie at Nathan as he stalked past, and said, "No kidding, Nate." He hurried behind the dressing screen, and saw his costume had been laid out, the pink corset for the solo number. He actually felt a lot better as he pulled off his shirt and unfastened his pants.

"I justI can't believe this," Nathan muttered, seemingly to no one in particular. "Jack fucking Kelly. He lies, he screws over his friends, and now he thinks he can just walk into my game without even saying he's sorry"

"Nate, he did say he's sorry," Nick commented.

"Of course he said he's sorry! Sorry don't make up for a goddamn thing, Nick!"

"Yeah," Sean muttered disdainfully. "He'd have to actually do something right."

"Exactly!"

Sean laughed. "And it would have to be something pretty goddamn big, too, right?"

"Yeah, Yeah, it would. I can't think of a single thing Kelly could do that would prove he'she's anything but a lying sack of..."

"Well, I can," Sean said. "But then, I ain't been too busy hating him to look into it."

"Ha!" Nathan snorted. "Like what?"

Thomas listened with interest.

"You really...None of you bothered to ask Jack where the hell he's been for the last decade?"

"Out west." Nathan didn't sound impressed. "So what?"

"Out west, yeah. Out west. He owns Standard Oil of California, ya jackass. Or forty percent of it, anyways."

The room went silent. Thomas stepped out from behind his screen, his corset still untied. Sean glanced at him, then rolled his eyes. "How?" Thomas asked. "Jack..."

"Yeah, I know, I was pretty damn surprised myself." Spot nodded. "Well, I ran into him in the course of my work a couple years ago. You know what that means, at least, I hope?"

Nathan nodded, and so did Thomas; Nick was still looking surprised at the first announcement. Sean had made a career for himself by traveling the country, building unions. It had started with an Irish worker strike in 1901only months after he'd ceased selling papers to take a job doing construction on the subway, a dam had broken and killed eleven Irish workers underground. When no one else seemed to care about it (well, no one but other workers, fearing for their lives in similar conditions) Sean had rallied them together and convinced every Irish worker to walk out and refuse to come back until they won better safety conditions. And in so-doing, he'd realized his career wasn't in construction, but was in unionizing and protecting workers from greedy corporations.

Which meant that if he'd run into Jack in the course of his job, something not quite right had happened at California Oil.

"So what happened?" Nathan finally asked.

Thomas listened as he laced up his corset.

"I got a tip that there'd been an accident in California; that a bunch of workers were hurt, some of 'em died. I went to see what was what, found out that the workers were already talking unions, protection. And for a change, no one was scared of talking to melot of times, folks get fired for that, when fatcats are afraid of what'll happen if they give workers some rights.

"But no. Everyone I talked to said, one of the partners, he was all for unions. He'd already done right by the workers, too. Went right to the bank and bought the widows' houses for 'em, to make sure they'd never have to worry about keeping the roof over their heads, ya know? Went to the funerals, was real respectful, real regretful. Finally one of the workerspresident of their union later, toooffered to get me a meeting with the guy.

"Turned out to be no one other than Mr. Jack Kelly. My jaw just about hit the goddamn floor, I tell you what."

"But...how?" Thomas asked. "Jack left here with two hundred bucks. That ain't quite enough to buy an oil company!"

"Yeah, I asked him about that. Turns out, Jacky-boy's mother was loaded somethin' fierce, which he never told us, 'cause he didn't know himself until he went out west to meet his grandparents." He finished his drink. "That's good scotch, Thomas."

"Yeah, it sure is," Thomas agreed. "You were gonna tell us something?"

Sean smirked and set the glass down. "I guess. You gonna put on pants?"

"No." Thomas did walk to his dressing table and begin to apply cream to his hair, readying it for the wig. Sean made a big show of clinking the ice cubes in his otherwise-empty cup.

"Sean, goddamn it, Nick will get you more scotch after you explain," Nathan snapped.

"Well, then." He considered. "What he told me was that his dad was a swindler, he had a scam he used to cheat rich girls out of money and then split town. Worked so well on Jack's mom, she thought they were in love, and he figured that would be a good deal for himthe family owned the biggest ranch in New Mexico, he thought that would make a mighty fine inheritance. But Jacky's grandparents saw through it, and when they forbade her to marry him, she ran off and eloped, and they disowned her.

"Well, Jack was born, and she died, and his dad was arrested. Jack didn't know a thing about the ranch. But when his grandparents started getting' old, they decided it was time to reconcile, and when they found out his mom was a goner, they sent for him and he split town.

"What he told me was that by then, Rockefeller was already sniffing around their land, and they let Standard Oil test it. Sure enough, the whole thing was floating on black goldand Rockefeller wanted it. The family wasn't stupid, though, and figured that meant it was worth more if they kept it than sold it, but Rockefeller, well, he didn't build a monopoly by playing nice.

"Finally, Kelly said, they agreed to sell the land to him, if he'd give work to their former ranchhands, and if he could find a way to keep the family rollin' in it so Jack wouldn't never have to find work himself. Thing was, they'd figuredhe was good at the ranch, worked hard, but he'd never been to school or nothin', so they didn't think it would be too easy to just find a job for Jack.

"So Rockefeller, he handed over part of one of his subsidiarieshe still figured he'd win the lawsuit back then, he'd still be controlling them all anyways, so all it did was give Jack a cushy job and a shitload of money. But as of last week, California oil don't answer to Rockefeller no more. And Jacky boy, he owned 40 perfect of the company when it went independent, and that makes him the biggest partner in the place.

"Last I knew, he was doin' his best to do right by all the workersthe ones who used to work on his family ranch, and the ones in Standard of California. As far as I'm concerned, the decisions he's made in charge therewell, they're more important in the long run than the shit he did here in New York when he was just some dumb kid. As far as I'm concerned, things are square between me and Kelly, so long as he's doing right by the people who work for 'im." He jangled the ice cubes in his glass again. "You said something about gettin' me some scotch?"

Nick nodded numbly and walked off to do so, taking Sean's glass with him. Thomas began to pin his wig on, but looked in the mirror to watch Nathan. Nathan was pacing again, stalking angrily now. Finally he snapped, "That don't excuse nothin'! I'm glad Jack grew up and all, but he still didn't give half a shit about us!"

Sean shrugged. "He's here now, ain't he?"

"Yeah, 'cause of oil, I bet."

"I doubt that," Thomas commented easily, forcing the casualness. "After all, Jack is just some guy with no education. You don't think there's someone more qualified working in his office? I'm guessing if he's here, he wants to be here."

"Why are you defending him all of a sudden?" Nathan snapped.

"I've been defending him all along," Thomas answered. "You've just been unable to listen to anything you don't want to hear." The 'as always' hung in the air, unsaid.

"Yeah, why is that, anyway?" Nathan demanded. "He hurt our friends, Tom! Just 'cause it wasn't your money he stole"

"This ain't about money, and you know that," Thomas snapped. "Stop pretending it is, you're starting to look pathetic."

"Funny," Nathan said, half-snarling. "When I say something ain't about money, you tell me it is. When I say something is..." He trailed off. "Anyways, I'm not surprised you're defending him now."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You know what it means."

Now the unspoken word between them came from Nathan, and Thomas knew it by the look of contempt and disgust, by the sneer. Like Nathan thought he was so much better, because he didn't dress like a woman; because he'd never had sex for money. Not officially, anyway.

"Yeah, I was a whore," Thomas said sharply. "So tell methe kinda guy who borrows money and doesn't pay it back, who lets his lover pay his rent and give him a job, who ain't got a single goddamn thing going for him except he's got a guy who likes his dickwhat the hell is he if he ain't a prostitute?"

Nick walked back into the room, holding the now-full glass. "Hey, guys, I--" was as far as he got before Nathan stormed past him out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Sean accepted the drink calmly.

"You two fight like that a lot?"

"Every night, seems like." Thomas sighed and reached for his wig.

"He gonna come back?"

"I hope not. I'm so tired of this," Thomas murmured. "So goddamn tired. I swear, if he does this to me one more time..."

"Aw, you always say that," Nick said.

"I mean it, this time!"

Sean snorted. "So what the hell happened between him and Jack, anyways?"

Thomas sighed and reached for his rouge. "I suppose no one but him and me remembers anyway," he said finally. "The week before David showed up, Jack and Nathan shared a bunk for a few nights. I remember it because I was terribly jealous. Nathan remembers it because it never happened again."


	14. More I Can Not Wish You

"Well." David smiled as they stepped into his apartment, the dinner finished. Ari was on his way home; Les, Rachel, and Joseph were headed further downtown to their smaller place. "I'm off to bed. Big day tomorrow."

He started towards the bathroom, but Sarah grabbed his wrist. Their parents went almost directly to their bedroom. "David," she said quietly. "Aren't you meeting friends tonight? Friends who are only in town for...well, a day or two?"

David sighed. "I don't think I'm in the mood."

"Is it because of Jack?"

David was reminded that subtlety was not Sarah's strong point. "It's not because of Jack."

"You're lying." She raised an eyebrow. "Thomas, Nickand Skittery and Swifty and Pie and Dutchy and Bumlets and"

"Sarah!" David snapped, sounding strangled. "I know who's going to be there! I just don't feel up to it. II'm tired. I have a big day tomorrow, the library and the wedding. I think they'll understand."

"I think they'll be disappointed," she said. "I mean, they're all mad at Jack, too. You're the strike leader who stayed by them. Never went scab. Never stole their money. Never split town. Please tell me you aren't worried about them choosing him over you."

"I wasn't, but thank you for that sentiment."

"Then what are you worried about?"

"Not getting enough sleep tonight." He stepped into the bathroom and washed his face. He glanced at himself in the mirror and noticed a strand of gray hair. He wasn't yet thirty, so it was probably a fluke, but if his father was any indication, in a few years it would be graying all over, and after that it would be gone almost entirely. He sighed.

He didn't look old, the one strand of hair aside, but he felt old.

Sarah was still waiting for him when he stepped out of the bathroom. "If you were to ask me, I'd say it was stupid not to go because of Jack. He's rotten, that's true, but if you're letting him dictate whether or not you can see your own friends, well, that's just"

"I didn't ask you," he snapped.

She crossed her arms. "You're being ridiculous."

He stomped over to open a window, then sat down on his bed. Sarah followed him. "Look, Sarah," he finally said slowly. "Iwhen I'm around Jack, it's just too easy to forget what he did to you."

"What he did to me doesn't matter anymore," she said firmly.

"How can you say that? He left you"

"I'm fully aware of what it is he did, thanks very much," she snapped. "But even though it took me a very long time, I have moved past it. Jack is an annoyance, but not much more. After all, I've met someone wonderful. I'm practically a married woman, finally. Why should I even bother about what Jack did to me years ago?"

"So it wouldn't bother you, if we were friends? Because this afternoon, you almost went ballistic at the thought of me talking to him."

"That was because you didn't know what was going on. Now you do. And now that you know what he's up to, what else can he do?"

David took a deep breath. "I don't like Jack. I don't want to see him. I don't see any good reason why I should."

Sarah gave him a long, measuring look, and finally said, "You know, it used to be Jack made you brave enough to do what you needed to. I never thought he'd turn you into a coward." She turned around and started towards the bathroom. "Goodnight, David."

David glared after her.

*

Nick was having the time of his life. The guys were all there, and they were great. Really great. Despite the fact that Nathan had roped most of them into a pass of the dice or two (some had more money to lose than others), people were mostly just talking, catching up.

No one had asked about Jack, and he hadn't volunteered any information. Nick almost felt bad for him; he was sitting by himself and drinking and no one was talking to him. Of course Nick understood why; everyone was still mad at him. They had a right to be, he understood, but Jack just looked so depressed. It was sad.

Even so, it was good to catch up with everyone else. Not surprisingly, a lot of the guys were factory workers in various citiesmost of them left New York because of how crowded it was, though it turned out Bumlets and Snitch were actually still in New York. Nick made a mental note to find out where they were and keep in touch with them.

Some of the guys had slightly more interesting lives, and more exciting stories to tell. Spot, of course, had been all over the country and had plenty to say about it. Swifty worked in shipping for one of the railroads; he loaded and unloaded heavy crates, did manual labor, but the trade-off was that he got to travel the whole of the country for free. His stories were almost as good as Spot's, and they quickly had an argument about who had girls in more cities.

Skittery, who'd always been one of the few who'd known how to read and write well, was a school teacher; by his own admission, he was rather liberal with the use of his ruler on students' knuckles. Itey was a bakerhe'd met and married a plump girl whose father owned a fancy pastry shop, and had inherited it himself (though, by his own admission, she did most of the cookinghe just kept the books). Dutchy was a painter, with a lot of gossip to share; he apparently worked for a wealthy old lady who owned a gallery and (he grinned as he explained) she took excellent care of him.

Things got a lot tenser when David walked in the door, though. A few guys jumped on him in greeting, and he was all smiles and laughs until his gaze turned to Jack. Jack looked up at him and it looked to Nick like their gazes locked for just a second. Then there was palpable tension in the room. The look had been obvious, and everyone else had seen it, too.

Nick found himself wishing AdelaideThomaswell, that one of Blink's personalities was there. He always knew how to break tension; he said it came from being an actor. The only person who seemed to really be able to make him tense was Nathan. Though when Nick glanced at Nathan, who had disappeared towards the wall when David had walked in (and Nathan remembered David was probably almost as mad at Nathan as he was at Jack) and remembered the way he'd stormed out of the Hot Box...Well, that was no good either. Nick hoped Adelaide would have cooled down by the time he appeared, whenever the show was over.

But since Adelaide wasn't there, and no one else seemed to know what to say, Nick cleared his throat and said, "Hey, Dave! Big day tomorrowyou all heard, Dave's meeting the President tomorrow!"

The tension didn't break, but it did sort of waver when David laughed, clearly too modest to acknowledge it.

"And the mayor, and the governor," Nick added, grinning.

"Lofty company you keep," Skittery mused.

"They don't exactly consult me on how to run the city," David answered.

"Maybe they should," Spot said. He looked amused. "Hell, I always thought you was gonna be mayor someday."

"You sound like my sister."

"Sarah's smarter than you give her credit," Spot answered, as he lit up a cigarette. "Good thing for her she didn't end up with that bum." He placed the cigarette between his lips and jerked his thumb at Jack, smirking.

Jack stared at his hands.

"Yes, well." David cleared his throat and stood. "Thank god for small favors. And decent brothers-in-law."

"You sayin' that guy I saw today is decent?" Jack answered, looking up. "Didn't make a great show for himself."

"As though you have any right to judge," David snapped. "Ari makes mistakes, but at least that IOU had his real name on it."

"I ain't proud of what I done, David," Jack said, his voice strained. "But I'm here now. Does that mean anything?"

"No. Not to me, it doesn't."

And just like that, the tension was back. Nick sighed. It was looking like it would be an uncomfortable night, after all.

*

David really did try to enjoy himself. After the one argument, Jack fell silent, didn't say anything else to him. Thankfully. People slowly began to chatter again, and Sarah's prediction was right: he was welcomed, a part of the group, while Jack was relegated to the outside. And despite Jack's money, not even Nathan seemed interested in getting him into the game. So he sat and drank and was hardly a part of the group.

David joined in betting on another few rounds of dice, and came out a little on top. He joined in with some of the joking, and reminiscing, though he enjoyed that less. After Jack had left, he hadn't liked looking back; all his memories of the strike and of his friends were so closely entwined with the way he felt about Jack, which was...

He didn't know what he felt about Jack, except disappointed. And tired. He was sick of feeling disappointed,

And once the word started going through his mind he checked his watch. It wasn't truly late yethe usually would have still been up watching the show at the Hot Box, in fact. But this wasn't a normal night, and tomorrow was probably the most important day of his life. So he announced apologetically, "I'm sorry, guys, I need to get to sleep."

There was a round of goodnights, though people sounded disappointed. David was almost glad of that, that people actually had missed him and were sad he was leaving. But then Jack stood up, too, and said, "I'll walk you out."

"No, thanks." David pulled on a jacket and brushed past him on his way to the door. But even after he gave his final goodbye and a wave to everyone gathered, Jack dogged his steps. Finally, when they were almost at the end of the block (and past no small amount of newsboys sleeping on stoops, now that the weather was warm enough to allow it), David turned and demanded, "What do you want from me, Jack? I need to go home. I don't have time for your...For you."

"I don't want anything from you," Jack said quickly.

"A lie, as usual." David began walking briskly again.

Jack kept up with him. "It's not a lie. I don't...I'm done with that now," he said quietly.

"The whole time I've known you, you've always wanted something," David snapped, annoyed Jack couldn't even acknowledge their history. "Every word you say is designed to get what you want. You've never once just come out and saidsaid, 'Here, Dave, this is what I want, can you help me?' and I frankly don't know why, because you know full well if you'd just asked, the answer always would have been yes!"

"I doubt that," Jack mumbled, though David barely heard it; it seemed to be more to himself than to David. "David, look"

"No!" David yelled. "I don't want any excuses, I want the truth. Did you come here to get something from me?" He stopped walking and glared at Jack, who finally nodded, wordlessly. "What?" he demanded, disappointment giving way to anger.

"I wanted..." Jack paused. "I was thinking of youhoping," he said slowly, almost hesitantly. For a moment, David felt a glimmer of hope himself; Jack had never hesitated before. His lies were always at the ready, and catching him off-guard was impossible. The way he was staring plaintively, the way words clearly were failing him, was a sign of something, and David hoped for a fleeting second that it might be the truth.

But then Jack's eyes lit up, and he got that look, like he'd won some kind of internal victory. He began talking again, sounding surer; David felt surer, too, in that he knew now it was a lie, and whatever Jack had almost said...well, it was Jack's secret, and David found himself with little energy to spare caring about it.

"I wanted to offer you a job," Jack told him. "I'm in oilreally in oil, my granddad set me up with a partnership. Thing is, I get these ideas, these great ideas, aboutabout workers. Their rights. I want to work with 'em, work with their union. Help them out.

"Thing is, the other partners, they aren't so sure. Unions cost the company money. I want to do things that are good, Dave. Good for people, butprobablybad for business. And the partners, well, they ain't much for losing money." He chuckled; David was not amused, he was annoyed.

"Anyway," Jack continued, apparently sensing that he hadn't won David over yet, "I haven't...I ain't been to school or nothing; you know that's true, at least." He waited for David to acknowledge that, which he did by inclining his head the tiniest fraction, not even truly nodding. "So they pretty much ignore me, do whatever they want. What I wantneedis someone I can trust. Someone who's smart, book-smart, who can help me...Help me show them all that my ideas, they can work! And everyone will be better off.

"And I, well, we worked together so good, you and me against Pulitzer and the rest of his cronies...I know you could do it, Dave. And I trust you. We were always good partners, weren't we?"

"Partners don't lie to each other. And your answer is no."

"David, please"

"No! Jack, not only do I have absolutely no reason to believe you, and no reason to ever want to help you, I have a life here, and a job here, and" He broke off and started walking again.

"David, please, at least think..."

"No. And I'll tell you why not," David said flatly. "If you'd ever sent me word of where you were, maybe; if you'd told me you ended up in oil and I'd known where you were, maybe. For god's sake, Jack, if you'd shown up in New York yesterday and knocked on my door, told me where you'd been, asked me to help you, maybe then! But instead you lied, you danced around it, just like you've been doing to me since we met, except in the decade you were gone. And I will not work for someone who won't do me the decency of telling the truth."

"I'm telling the truth now," Jack said softly.

"Really?" David muttered skeptically. He paused, finally almost out of rage, and certain Jack was lying. He turned to face Jack. "Truly? Look me in the eye, Jack. Look me in the eye, and tell me you're being honest. Entirely honest."

"What could I possibly be lying about?" Jack asked.

David started walking again. "That wasn't an answer."

"David, I'm telling the truth! I came to New YorkI had meetings for the companyI wanted to find you while I was here, ask you to come back with me. I just, I ran into Nick first, and that stupid bet, and it was...I'm sorry about the way it all happened. So sorry."

"Too little, too late." David sighed. "I know that isn't the truth, Jack; if you had wanted to offer me the job, you'd have done it at lunch, but you didn't. And when I just asked you if it was the truth, you'd have said yes. Not given me a story, just a simple yes. So no. Now please, if you feel like you've ever owed me anything, leave me alone. I don't want to see you. I don't like being lied to, and frankly, at this point, I don't like you."

"I'll tell you the rest!" Jack said quickly. "I justI didn't wantI couldn't tell you if you were already...still...mad at me."

"As though I don't have every right? Jack, go, already."

"I'll tell you now, even if you do hate me!" Jack half-yelled. David felt himself getting calmer in response to the unmasked desperation in Jack's voice.

"You know what?" One last time, David stopped walking and wheeled around to face Jack. "I honestly don't want to hear it. There is nothing you can say that will change my mind about you. Just leave me alone!"

When he walked on, Jack didn't follow him. When he looked back over his shoulder a block later, he could see Jack walking the opposite direction, back to the lodging house. Or rathertrudging, stooped. The picture of defeat.

David wasn't satisfied, not really, but he did hope that that would be the last he saw of Jack Kelly, even if it had been a rather depressing end.


	15. The Crapshooter's Dance

Jack trudged back to the lodging house numbly. He was still aware enough to nod at the cop who passed by, and that actually did shake him a little; after all, it was just one more piece of proof that his childhood in the streets was completely gone. He looked like a respectable gentleman; he looked like he had money, and he _did_. No one would look at him and assume he'd been in jail. No one would assume he'd grown up homeless. No one questioned what he might be doing out on the streets at night.

But for all his money and luck, Jack knew in that moment he'd have traded it all to have his adolescence back. He loved his grandparents, and maybe anyone else looking at it would have thought he'd made the right decision when he'd gone out west...but he'd been thrown out of David Jacobs' life, forever.

When they were younger, David had given him courage and direction. David had turned his luck and charm into a force to be reckoned with; Jack knew he'd had enough going for him to get by, but David had unlocked the larger world for him. And it hadn't been just the strike and Jack's sudden passion for doing the right thingDavid had given him a family, a home. And at the end of the day, Jack had _always_ felt like he was coming home to David. True, Sarah was pretty and she was smart, and for whatever reason she'd cared about him...but he'd stayed in New York for David.

And he'd left because of David, too, he mused. He'd left because in one of his few moments of real surety, he'd known that marrying David's sister to have an excuse to stay close to him was wrong, and somehow tragic. Certainly not fair to Sarah. And the fact that he wanted to so badly to have an excuse to stay near David all the time, well, that had said a lot about _him_ that he wasn't comfortable with.

He kicked a pebble down the cobbled street, remembering things that he wasn't quite comfortable with. Like about him and Racetrack, which had been fun, enough but... Not _serious._ They'd both known that neither of them was really queer, not like Blink, who pretended he was like themjust playing, just keeping warm at nightbut everyone knew better. Except from the moment Jack had seen David, in the midst of a scrambling fistfight, he'd known. David was different. He'd wanted to impress David, to befriend him, to be near him. It wasn't normal, it wasn't playing. It was queer, and it was scary as hell.

So he'd run for it. He'd been offered a way out, and he'd taken it. And maybe it really was for the best. He had money, he had respect, and he had a chance to continue everything David had shown himto help the people who needed help, to make the world better. He had the power to do it now, with or without David's help.

But the thought of _having_ to do it without David's help...

Jack climbed the stairs to the lodging house, but didn't go in. Instead, he sat on the stoop and lit a cigarette. He needed to clear his head. David wanted him out of his life, but there was no way Jack was going without a fight. He had a day and a half left before he had to catch his train home, that was plenty of time to change things.

*

Nathan paced restlessly through the lodging house's front room. It was honestly a little crowded for pacing, but he was too nervous to really keep still. He only stopped when he tripped over a board he could swear had been loose since he was a kid. Irritated, he turned to Isaac and snapped, "You oughta fix that damn thing before a kid gets hurt!"

Isaac gave him a smile. "I'll get one of the boys to nail it down tomorrow," he promised. "Now sit still, you're making me dizzy."

Nathan sat, though not really because Isaac had asked him to. It was more because he knew his own nerves were spreading to the guys far too easily. Things had been tense since David had yelled at Jack, and even more awkward since they'd left. Now his pacing was putting people on edge.

He pulled out a cigar and began to chew on the endwell, and smoking, but mostly chewing. It was another nervous habit, but a less distracting one. And he didn't want the guys distracted. He wanted them slightly inebriated and feeling friendlythe best mood for spending money.

The game had pretty much petered out. No one was playing now, and though his cut had been a decent amount of money, it wasn't really that much, especially not compared to the debt he owed Thomas. He'd hoped to have more before Thomas arrived, so he could fork it over as a sign that he was trying, and that he was sorry.

But Thomas hadn't shown up yet, even though it was getting late and Nathan was sure the show at the Hotbox was done. And the later it got, the more nervous Nathan was that Thomas wouldn't come. Because for all of his "last chances," and for all they fought, Nathan had never heard Thomas as mad as he'd been that evening.

He chewed on the cigar and watched the groups of guys chatting, part of him wanting to join in. But he didn't, because all he could think about was what Thomas had screamed at him. He'd sworn to himself when he'd walked out that it was over, foreverbut here he was, still angry, but mostly sorry. Because, he had to admit, Thomas had been provoked, and had every reason to be mad. The more Nathan thought about it, the more he realized that. For starters, there was the fact that the guy who loved him was so far in his debt, but didn't ever seem to pay any of it back. And then there was the fact that the guy who loved him kept throwing the past in his face. And finally, the fact that the guy who loved him couldn't get over a goddamn fixation on a fling he'd had as a _kid._

And Nathan knew it was that last one that hurt the most. Because he and Thomas had already been together, on and off, when Jack had given him that intrigued look and they'd taken off together to find some privacy. And Thomas had taken him back without comment when it had ended abruptly, when Jack had met David and suddenly whatever Nathan was offering him just wasn't enough.

And now here was Jack, and Nathan still wasn't over it, really, and Thomas _knew._ And instead of reassuring Thomas and being with him, Nathan had done what he always did; had pissed him off and run.

Jesus. No wonder Thomas was always mad at him. But Nathan would make it up to him; would start by paying off the debt and then he'd be the kind of guy Thomas wanted. He was sure he could, if he had the chance.

The door to the lodging house opened and Nathan looked up eagerly, but it was Jack and not Thomas who walked inside. Jack was still looking quiet and contemplative. Not elated, which meant David hadn't forgiven him.

Nathan put out his cigar and looked away from Jack, who leaned against a wall. Ignoring him, Nathan stood and glanced at the abandoned game. He might as well try to get people playing again, so that maybe when he groveled to Thomasassuming Thomas ever showed uphe'd be successful. Money probably wouldn't solve everything, but it sure as hell wouldn't hurt. He cleared his throat. "No more players? Hell, I'll even join in a round."

"You've made more money tonight than any of us," Specs mused. "Come on, we're broke."

"Nah," Jack answered, "I don't think anyone here's too broke." He reached for his wallet and produced a thick wad of cash, which he handed to Nathan. "Look, I owe you allI owe you money and...an apology. There's the money."

"And the apology?" Sean asked wryly.

Jack sighed. "I left. I shouldn't have. I especially shouldn't have taken the cash when I did. I was a coward; I took the coward's way out. And I'm sorry."

Nathan wanted to tell him off again, but kept his mouth shut. Jack already knew how he felt, and anyway, the infusion of cash into the room might just get people playing again. Maybe Jack even knew that. When Nathan actually looked up and Jack was watching him in particular, he was sure.

So Jack was doing him a favor. It didn't make up for anything. But he did divvy out the money to the people Jack owed, and no one really said anything to Jack, but no one glared at him either. And when, rolling his eyes, Skittery agreed to another round of dice and a couple other guys joined him, so did Jack. And no one told Jack to get lost.

It was a relief, actually. And if only Thomas had been there, it would have been damn near perfect. He sighed. "Nick, Thomas say anything to you about when he'd be here?" he finally asked.

Nick shook his head. "Nah. I figure any time nowI mean, his show's gotta be done by now."

Nathan scowled.

But Sean spoke up, "He ain't coming."

"What?"

"He said before Nick and me leftto me," he clarified. "Didn't want to go breaking Nick's heart. But he ain't coming."

"Did he say why?" Nathan asked.

"You know why," Sean said, sounding accusatory. "Jesus Christ, Nathan, what did you expect?"

Nathan glared at him. "I expect you to mind your own goddamn business," he answered. "You ain't welcome in mine."

Sean snorted disdainfully. "As loud as you two shout, the whole goddamn city knows everything there is about your business."

"Come on, guys," Nick said quickly, "let's not _fight_ about it."

"Shut it, Nick," Nathan snapped, not really thinking. He regretted it when he saw Nick's hurt expression; after all, it wasn't his fault. But sometimeslike nowhe couldn't bring himself to care too much about hurting Nick. Not when he remembered that Thomas threw himself at Nick all the damn time, and not jokingly. If Nick had the slightest inclination towards men, Nathan knew full well he'd be out a lover. And as much as he liked Nick, he also sometimes wanted to strangle the guy for being so cluelessly tolerant.

"Come on," Jack muttered. He put down money for the bet. "Let's just play, okay?"

And, spitefully, Nathan answered, "You know, maybe I don't even want you in my game. Inviting you wasn't my idea."

"Nate, come on," Nick pleaded. "Let's just play. I'll even put some ineven though I'm pretty broke." He smiled his please-just-get-along smile of desperation, which just made Nathan more irritated.

"No," he said sharply. "Jack messed upeverything."

Jack sighed. "Come on, Nathan. If you don't want me to play, fine, I won't. But it ain't like I started problems with you and Thomas. Don't blame me for the one thing that _ain't_ my fault."

"You don't know the first thing about me and Thomas," Nathan snarled. "So shut the hell up about it. Ain't like you've ever had anyone who means to you what he does to me. So just _shut the hell up_."

"Yeah, I have," Jack answered, his voice getting louder. "I have and I threw it away, just like you're doing. So don't tell me to shut up, 'cause in about two days you and me are gonna be in the same goddamn boat."

And that did it. Nathan, for all his faults, knew he was _not_ Jack Kelly. "No," Nathan snarled, "you threw it away and didn't give a _damn_ about it, not for a decade. You don't give a shit about David or anyone elseyou want it back because you're _greedy_."

"That's a goddamn lie," Jack snapped. "I don't care what you tell yourself to sleep at night, but that ain't true."

"Who says it ain't?" Nathan said, smirking.

"_I_ say," Jack snapped.

"Yeah? I'd like to ask David what he thinks."

Jack's eyes narrowed and he all but snarled, "_I_ think if you wanna keep talking we should discuss this outside."

"Maybe we _should_," Nathan yelled back.

Jack stormed out and Nathan cursed and stormed after him. And Jack, apparently forgetting he was supposed to be respectable now, was rolling up his sleeves. Nathan glared at him.

"You know," Jack snapped, "I can't think of a single thing I've got to say to you. I already said I was sorry. I already paid up. I already tried to help you out and tried to make things right, and I ain't got anything else to say. I'm done trying. If you won't forgive me, fine, but for Christ's sake shut up about it."

"I'm not gonna shut up about it," Nathan answered, stalking closer, clenching his fists. "'Cause you're exactly the same guy you've always been. A selfish, greedy liar, and you think just saying you're sorry can make up for things you actually _did_. Words don't make everything better, Jack."

"No, but they can screw it up," Jack answered. "That's why Thomas isn't here, right?"

"Shut _up_ about Thomas!" Nathan yelled. "You don't know him, and you don't know me! You left us both, you left us _all_!"

"Guys!" Nick broke in, hurrying out of the house. "Keep it down, okay? Isaac says the bulls come around here all the time, 'cause of the kids, an"

"I'm not scared of the cops anymore," Jack answered, straightening up. "And I'm ready to have this out, be done with it."

"Figures," Nathan snapped. "You got cash, you look down on the rest of us. You're not just a liar, you're a traitor."

For just a second, Jack looked hurt, like Nathan had finally found his weakness. Well, _good_. If Jack was going to sneer about how the cops never bothered him anymore

He didn't have time to finish the thought, because the look was gone from Jack's face, and Jack swung at him. Nathan was caught off-guard, a little shocked that Jack would actually hit him, but hell, he'd been in enough fights in his time to react. He dodged at the last second and Jack grazed his shoulder. Nathan turned quickly and punched back, catching Jack's gut. Jack let out a pained grunt and doubled over, but before Nathan could even get in another hit, Jack had grabbed his shirt. Jack hauled himself upright and shoved hard; Nathan sprawled backwards, barely catching himself, but not without flailing off-balance enough that Jack was able to get in a good hit. It collided with the side of Nathan's face, and he fell, hard. From the ground, he heard Jack's footsteps coming towards him, but then Nick was there.

As Nathan picked himself up, Nick pushed Jack back. "Come on, you guys, that's about enough"

Nathan felt a trickle of blood at his temple and more on his hands where they'd hit the cobbles. "You son of a bitch!" Nathan snarled, and lunged past Nick at Jack, hitting them both. Nick dropped Jack as he balanced himself, and as Jack pulled himself away, Nathan punched him.

"Hey!" Nick yelled again, and this time reached for Nathan. But Nathan dodged and evaded him, then swung at Jack again. Jack ducked and barreled into Nathan, knocking them both to the cobblestones. Nathan scrambled but Jack pinned him down with a rough knee on his chest. He was pulling back his fist and Nathan braced himself; then Nick knocked into Jack, leaving all three of them winded on the street.

"_What the hell is going on out here_?!"

The voice that cut through the air was authoritative and angry. Nathan took a few deep breaths and sat up. His whole body ached from that last fall, and he was still bleeding. But what he looked up to see was an angry beat cop, one hand on his hip and his other on his nightstick.

Jack was the first one to get to his feet. Nathan followed more slowly, and wiped his hands on his pants as Jack obviously tried to turn on his charm. "Sorry, officer," Jack said brightly. "Justsome friends having a quarrel."

"Some friends, feh," the officer snapped. "It's not fighting I mind, it's fighting in _public_!"

"Yes, we're very sorry," Jack said.

"Probably drunk," the officer scoffed.

"No, sir," Nick said quickly. "Barely had a drop all night."

"So you say. But I see three grown men, causing a ruckusand setting a bad example." He gestured, and Nathan glanced around and saw faces pressed to the windows of the lodging house, saw the kids who'd been asleep on stoops and under awnings all creeping closer, staring. "And I don't give a damn what you're fighting about. Fact is, these kids are hard enough to control without adults who should know better encouraging 'em!"

Nathan winced. He knew from experience that the guy was right. As kids, they'd all tested the local authorities, gotten away with as much as they couldthey had no choice, really, since sometimes it was pick a pocket or starve. And that seeing a couple of adults walk away from a cop scot-free would have emboldened them, convinced them to try and talk their way out of trouble. Which was how Nathan realized that no matter what they said, they'd be spending an uncomfortable night in jail.

Well, _shit_.

When the officer handed down the you're-coming-with-me edict, all three of them accepted it calmly. The officer kept one hand on his club, but didn't cuff any of them. He did, however, march them the five blocks to the nearest station house and leave them in the custody of a younger, slightly jumpier cop. He took their names down, informed them they could make a call if they had anyone to call, and that the fine was fifteen dollars. They could go when they paid it, or in the morning (with fines to be sent to them later, or jail time to serve if they didn't pay up), whichever came first.

Jack sighed. "Damn, I dropped the last of my pocket cash paying everyone back," he mused. "Barely got a buck on me now."

Nick shrugged. "I was flat broke already."

And Nathan sank down onto the flat bench of their cell, and muttered, "Shit. All my dough was _in_ the game."

"I'm sure Isaac'll hang onto it for you," Nick said.

"That ain't the point. Either of you know the _number_ of the lodging house?"

Jack glanced at Nick, and Nick glanced back at Jack, and they both shook their heads. Nathan groaned.

"I'll call Thomas," Nick offered. "You know he'll come for you, Nathan. And maybe us, too."

Jack hesitated, but nodded, then said, "I cancall someone, too. But the bank doesn't open 'til morning, anyways."

"Thomas it is, then," Nick said.

Nathan nodded wordlessly, as Nick called out to the officer. But despite Nick's surety, he couldn't believe it. For all Thomas had offered him a last chance dozens of times, he'd _never_ been as mad as he'd been that evening. And so Nathan didn't believe he'd come. And now, Nathan was pretty sure, he'd never even get a _chance_ to make things right.

He buried his head in scraped-up hands. He couldn't even bring himself to blame this one on Jack.


	16. Luck Be A Lady

Officer O'Leary hung around the desk nervously. He stared at the signatures from the guys the beat cop had just dragged in. All three of them were scrawls; it didn't take a genius to recognize they were from guys who probably didn't read or write that well.

Three names, barely legible. But the middle oneNathan Higginstugged at his memory. He could swear it was familiar. Couldn't say why, though. Nothing he'd heard down at the station, that he could recall; he'd checked through the city's criminal list and hadn't found it or anyone who matched his description. He even checked the last couple of months' worth of fines that had been sent out, in case he was just remembering someone who'd been brought in drunk recently, but there were no matches.

Odd.

A little after midnight, a woman came in. That was unusualfirst off, this late, no one really came in by choice. But especially not women. _Very_ especially not alone. And she didn't even look like one o the red-light district ladies; she was wearing a classy dress and carried herself with grace. Though kind of tall and broad-shouldered for a woman, O'Leary couldn't help but stare. She looked kind of...perfect. Even though O'Leary had no reason to be interested, he couldn't help but look.

"Can I help you?" he asked, standing quickly behind his desk.

She smiled. "I got a phone call earlier tonight. Afriend of mine," she said carefully, her voice soft, "seems to have been picked up. I can pay his fine."

"Oh, of course. What's the name?"

"Nicholas Meyers."

One of the three who'd come in recently. She set the fifteen dollars on the table and he pointed towards where she needed to sign. Her signature was also messy, which was odd, given that she reeked of class. He glanced at it. "Adelaide...Diamond?"

"Dee-ah-mond," she pronounced.

"Lovely," he answered. "Like you."

She tittered. "Oh, go on, I'll bet you say that to all the girls who come in here to bail out drunkards."

"Nah, your man wasn't drunk," O'Leary told her. "But I must say, not a lot of women come down here alone...It isn't safe for a woman at night, ma'am."

"Well, I'll have Nicholas to walk me home, so there's no point in worrying about me." She smiled again, and there was something about her smile.

"Of course. Right this way, Mrs. Diamond."

"Miss," she corrected.

"Surely not," he said, smiling. She was easy to joke with; if most women were _half_ so easy to even talk to, he'd probably have more luck. And interest. "Surely the 'friend' you're here for...?"

"Is a lovely gentleman," she said, "but not my husband. He isn't the least bit interested in the position."

He led her to the two cells in the back. All three of the guys who'd just been brought in were together in one, with a couple of drunks lying around and groaning.

"Adelaide," murmured the shortest of the three.

Miss Diamond ignored him. "Nicholas," she scolded. "I expect nonsense from certain other idiots I could name, but you?"

The dark-skinned one gave her a shy look. "Sorry, Miss Adelaide. I was trying to help."

"I'm sure you were, darling." She smiled at him. "Well, I paid your fine. Come along, now."

"But, Adelaide..." Nicholas said, and cast a look at the two men he'd come in with.

"But what, Nick?"

"Adelaide," the short one said quietly. "Please, just hear me out. I'm not asking for the bail"

"I would think not," Adelaide interrupted. "I have already learned my lesson about lending you money."

"Adelaide, _please_," he pleaded. "This isn'tI'm sorry. About everything, everything I said. I was"

"Nicholas, come along," she interrupted, as O'Leary unlocked the cell. "Nathan. Your services at the Hotbox will no longer be required."

"Theoh my god," O'Leary said. And that was when he realized why Nathan had looked familiar, why he'd recognized the name; why he found Adelaide so enticing in a way most women weren't. He swallowed. "Oh. My."

"Oh, dear me," Adelaide said, as he swung the cell shut and locked it again. "Don't tell me you're a fan."

O'Leary nodded wordlessly. "I can't go see shows much," he said. "I mean, it ain't... We got a cop who... He doesn't approve much of your shows."

"Officer Brannigan?" she asked. He nodded. She paused, then stepped closer to him and leaned in. "I don't think there's any need to tell him about us being here. Is there?"

O'Leary whimpered. Shehe, he knewsmelled like expensive perfume and hair cream. They were almost nose-to-nose. "I...don't think..." he mumbled. "I don't think so."

"Excellent." Adelaide leaned in and kissed him. "You should come backstage and visit me next time you're in the area."

"I... I'd love to!" he exclaimed.

She walked back towards the exit, with Nick in tow, but she did stop at the door to blow him a kiss. O'Leary sighed happily. What a night.

*

Nathan sank down onto the hard wooden bench and groaned. His whole body ached; it really _had_ been a long time since he'd been in fistfight. The bruises and scrapes were throbbing, and he could swear that every muscle ached. And...and _shit._

Jack sat next to him quietly. Nathan waited for a smart remark, but it didn't come. Finally, Nathan muttered, "You hurting as much as me?"

"Yeah," Jack groaned. "We're not seventeen anymore, huh?"

Nathan didn't laugh, didn't even smile. He didn't have the urge to punch Jack anymore, or even tell him off. He didn't care. There were bigger, more depressing things for him to focus on than Jack Kelly.

After a couple more minutes, Jack said, "Look, I called my lawyer. Course, callin' him from jail in the middle of the night just kind of proves to all the guys I work with that I'm not exactly worth listening to." He sighed. "Well, I own enough of the company that they ain't got a choice. Anyways, he'll be by after the bank opens tomorrow. When _respectable_ people do business."

"He said that to you?" Nathan asked.

"Yeah."

"You could always fire him."

Jack gave him a wry smile. "Not until after he bails us out."

"Us?" Nathan asked.

Jack shrugged. "I swung first, figure it's the least I can do."

Nathan didn't thank him. But he didn't argue about it, either. He just groaned again. "What am I gonna do, Jack?" he finally said. "I got _nothin'_ without Thomas. He was my whole life."

Jack sighed. "I'd give you my advice, but since Dave just made it very clear he wants me to drop dead, I'm not exactly qualified."

Nathan managed a wry smile, though it came out more of a grimace. "So you and Dave... I always wondered, you and him... And then you and his sister..."

Jack took a deep breath. "Well, me and Dave _never_, for one. Me and Sarah, sometimes. If you get my drift."

"Mm," Nathan said. "I just wouldn't have guessed... About you and Dave, I mean. You two were awful close. You pretty much forgot my name whenever he was around."

He hadn't really meant to say that, but it was true enough.

Jack nodded. "Yeah, I... I'm sorry, Nathan. About that. I mean." He glanced around the cell, and noted that one of the drunkards was snoring loudly on the floor, and the other was sitting at the other end of the cell, clutching his stomach and looking pained, clearly not caring too much about what a couple strangers were discussing. "You and me... We was just playing around. That's what I thought, anyway."

"I wish you'd told me that. I woulda skipped things and stayed with Thomas. He never let me forget it, you know. After the strike ended, I swear, if I so much as glanced at you..."

Jack looked a little uncomfortable, but finally said, "I didn't mean to... All these years, I thought it was the strike you were mad about."

"That, too. Goddamn scab. That was _low_."

"I know it was!" Jack squawked. "It's the thing I'm second-sorriest about in my life."

"And the sorriest is leaving?"

Jack nodded. "Look, Nathan," he finally said, "I really... I didn't think you were serious about me. If I'd realized that, I wouldn't have... I mean, I didn't mean to hurt you. We were _friends_."

"Yeah," Nathan said. And he could hear it in Jack's voicesomething he'd only ever heard once or twice, when they were kids. The rare time Jack shared a secret, his voice had sounded like thathesitant, almost nervous. And it wasn't that Nathan suddenly got over anything, or forgave Jack in that moment, but he did make the cool-headed decision to give up. Hating Jack Kelly would take too much energy, and just wasn't worth it.

"So," Jack finally said, "what's the deal with you and Tom and money? I heard some of it from Dave and Nick, but..."

Nathan shrugged. "It's all my fault, what do you expect?"

"Meaning?"

"Well... See, I was doing okay for myself, before I even metuh, re-met, Tom. I was a regular sport, and I even won more than I lost. Hell, that's how I could afford to even meet Tom, I went to the theater 'cause I had a big score that night from the tracks, and..." He trailed off, smiling despite himself. Tom had been very happy to see him, as he'd proved repeatedly... Once behind the screen in his dressing room, once on the table of the dressing room, once in the rail-car kitchen in his apartment, twice in the bedroom, and then once in the bathroom for good measure. A very good night, indeed.

"Anyway," he said hurriedly, feeling the flush on his cheeks, "Tom and me took it up again, which was great. And I was doing okay, you know, and finally I did what I'd wanted to for a long time, and started a kind of... club, you know? We'd meet up, we'd play cards, roll dice, smoke some, drink some, get together to go to the races, go watch Tom's shows..." He laughed. "I surprised a few guys when they figured me out, but hell, most of 'em owed me cash, cared more about that than who I took to bed.

"Well, the club did pretty good. And I was making money, too, hand over fist. I mean, it was my club, so I took a percentage of everything we played; whether I won or lost, I came out on top. Everything was fucking sunshine."

"So what happened?"

"Walter Jones did. Better known as Jonesy." He took a breath. "See, Jonesy, he ran a club, too. A gang, really. And they didn't like competition. Now, I was small timenot even the police looked twice at me. But Jonsey... Well. He invited me to chat. We had a couple drinks. We talked about merging the groups, which would have been great for me. I mean, I'd have been his toady, but I'd have been making a lot more money.

"Things was fine for awhile. And one night, Jonsey asked me to play with 'em, instead of running the game. And I knew...I _knew_ it was my make-or-break night with Jonsey; if I made a good show for myself, I was in. If I made a fool of myself...

"Well. I played. And I didn't have a choice, I put in...I put in money, all I had on me, all I had saved, and a hell of a lot I didn't have. I needed to impress him."

"And you lost?" Jack surmised.

"The fucker cheated! He _cheated_ me, I saw him do it, but how the hell do you prove that in front of his fucking oxen friends?"

"Ah."

"'Ah,' is fucking right." Nathan crossed his arms over his chest and slumped. "Bastard. So of course I didn't have the cash, I gave him my marker, and of course I couldn't pay it up. Especially not when he told me he was done with meall the guys from my club who were worth playing with were playing with him, the rest were too scared to play _anything._

"Tom gave me a job, but it wasn't enough. I ran a game or two on the side, small things, but Jonesy caught one. Said that he didn't like competition, and that I'd better pay up. Gave me a week. Course I couldn't come up with that kind of scratch, so they broke my arm. Gave me the weekend, said if I didn't come up with it, they'd tear my kneecaps off."

He sighed. "But Tom, of course, saved me. Pulled out his nest egg, told me he didn't mind, it was worth it to save my skin. Said he had a vested interest in my knees."

Jack snickered, and Race even managed a wan smile. Thomas was clever, and when he remembered the smirk on Tom's face when he'd made that crack, he felt a sharp pain in his gut and an overwhelming sense of loss.

"But it's not like I could pay him back. Especially when if I managed to rope more than eight, ten people into a game, Jonsey'd break my skull. That's why I was so desperate about tonight. I figured he wouldn't know anyone from out of town, so I'd be able to make a decent score for a change."

"Makes sense," Jack agreed.

Nathan didn't say anything for awhile after that. Jack didn't, either, just let him stew. Or at least, didn't stop him from stewing.

Finally, Nathan said, "What am I gonna do without him, Jack? He saved my life. I love him."

"You ever told him that?"

"Course I have. Maybe not enough. I dunno." Nathan stared at the floor. "I thought he knew, but I guess... I mean, him and me... I guess I always thought he'd be there. Money or no money, I don't know."

Jack nodded a little. "I guess I always thought that about Dave. You know, that I'd be able to come back and he'd be there. God, I was so relieved he wasn't married. For all the good it did me."

Nathan sighed. "I guess Iwell, the bet, that was bad business for both of us."

"Yeah."

"Tom was mad enough at me for that, then... I got a big mouth, it ruins things."

"I bet it helps _some_ things," Jack said, and elbowed Nathan, giving him a raunchy grin.

Nathan rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Jack."

Jack did so, obligingly. Finally, he said, "So the cops, they give you a hard enough time, but this Jonesy guy...?"

"They don't bother with him," Nathan said. "He keeps a couple paid off, they keep him out of trouble. Even fucking Brannigan, he'll take a bribe or two and then turn right back around on me and Tom."

"Brannigan," Jack repeated. "Davie told me about him, said his son was queer."

"Yeah, and half in love with Tom," Nathan agreed. "And Branniganwell, he's got some friends in high places, even takes dinner with the mayor every now and then. And he'll do anything to get to Tom and his friendsme and Nick and Dave, especially."

"Dave?" Jack repeated darkly.

"He's seen Dave with me and Nick too often, maybe even seen him leaving the Hotbox once or twice. Tried to get him kicked off the Library Committee. Good thing he's not too bright, 'cause he couldn't think of a way to tell Mayor Gayner about Dave without telling about his sonand he doesn't want anyone to know about his son."

Jack made a noise of disgust. "Ain't nothing I hate more than a corrupt cop."

Nathan smirked. He knew full well why that was.

"You know what I found out, few years ago?" Jack asked abruptly.

"What?"

"Warden Snyder, that bastard, he knew about my mom. And her parents. And their ranch. Funny how he forgot to mention it to _me_."

"Son of a bitch," Nathan said.

"I got _no_ use," Jack said, stretching and yawning, "for corrupt cops."

"No one does," Nathan answered.

"The way I see it," Jack said, glancing at him, "you got three problems, Nathan. You got Tom. You got this cop. And you got Jonsey. Now, you ain't gonna like this, since it's coming from me, but I think I can solve all three."

"Yeah?" Nathan asked. "How's that?"

"Simple, Nathan. This Brannigan fellow ain't the only one who knows the mayor."


	17. Sue Me

Nathan had only just managed to doze off on the hard wooden bench when a dour-looking man in a suit stepped into view, an equally dour-looking police officer with him. On the bench next to Nathan, Jack stretched and stood. "Mr. Dawes," he said.

"Mr. Kelly." Mr. Dawes did not sound amused or entertained. "I've paid the fines for you and your... _Friend_." He said the word as if it tasted bad.

"Thanks kindly," Jack said. The officer unlocked the door and Jack stepped out, then waited for Nathan, who hurried after him. "And I'll see you this afternoon," Jack added to the man.

"A word before you go traipsing off, Mr. Kelly?"

"Does it have to be a word in here? Let's go get some coffee and eggs. Nathan, you coming?"

"Sure, I guess," Nathan said.

"Good man." Jack slapped him on the back and stepped jovially out of the station and into the daylight. Nathan winced and squinted for a second, but Jack practically had a spring in his step.

"Mr. Kelly," the suit said disapprovingly, "public brawling is generally frowned upon by the board."

"No kidding," Jack answered, then, "Ah ha!" He led the way into a small corner restaurant, a greasy-looking diner that was packed elbow-to-elbow with customers.

"Mr. Kelly!"

"_What?_" Jack demanded.

"Does the fact that I just had to sign forms to get you released from _jail_ mean _nothing_ to you?"

Nathan examined the menu, printed largely and hanging on one of the walls, while he listened. He wondered who this guy Jack had called was, since they didn't seem to like each other very much.

"Well, I appreciate it. But that wasn't really jail, Mr. Dawes. That was just..." He shrugged.

"Perhaps it matters less to someone who has _been_ to jail," Mr. Dawes said darkly.

"Yeah, that's probably it," Jack answered. "And since the board already knows about thatand the pardonand that it came from President RooseveltI'm not too worried."

Nathan decided how he wanted his eggs and looked up to watch the conversation. Mr. Dawes was glaring at Jack. Nathan noticed that their suits were almost identicalexcept that Jack's was rumpled from being worn overnight, and somehow, on Jack it looked like he might pull off the jacket, roll up the sleeves, and get to work in the restaurant at any second. Maybe it was something about the way he carried himself; he was as at home here as any of the rest of the morning crowd trying to elbow their way up to the counter, where Dawes was completely out of place and seemed to be looking very much down his nose.

"I don't think you understand. The board is very concerned about your conduct, as your behavior has been less than becoming for someone of your... social standing."

"Ah, I see, then," Jack said, then called above the din, "Hey, can we get some coffee over here while we wait?" A waiter gave them a quick wave and Jack nodded back to him. "See, thing is, Mr. Dawes, I own 40 percent of the company; if the board doesn't like me, well, there ain't a damn thing they can do about it, is there?"

"Their concerns are _understandable_, Mr. Kelly! You laugh off a night in jail; you spend money like water, giving it to god only knows what kind of"

"Hey, that reminds me, Nathan. We going to the bank after this? Twenty grand, wasn't it?"

"That's it, yeah," Nathan answered. He would have chafed at it, but he got the feeling that, at least at that moment, Jack was offering not so much to do him a favor, but more to irritate Mr. Dawes. And that was a cause Nathan found himself willing to help with.

"Excuse me?" Dawes said. "What is this?"

"I'm loaning a friend some money," Jack said.

"Who you met in jail?"

"No, we grew up together on the streets." Jack gave him a smirk. "Honestly, that's what I don't understand about the board oror any of the rest of the people of my 'social standing.' You have all this money; why the hell don't you _spend_ it? What good is it doing, just sitting there?"

"Responsible financial"

"Yeah, responsible is good. I'm perfectly responsible. Loaning Nathan twenty grand is whata drop in the bucket? I grew up with nothing, now that I've got money I'm not going to take it for granted. I'm going to spread it around. I'm going to help people. And I don't give a damn what the board of California Oil thinks. And if you don't like that, well... Remember that you work for me, and not the other way around."

Mr. Dawes gaped and Nathan didn't bother to hide his grin. _That_ sounded like the Cowboy he'd grown up withthe Cowboy he hadn't even known he'd missed.

A waiter with a carafe of coffee and three mugs cleared his throat. The people near them had also gone pretty quiet. Jack's rant had been angry, and pitched to be heard; people had _heard_ it. Jack turned his smile on at the waiter and accepted his coffee with a quick thanks, and Nathan did the same. Mr. Dawes declined the offer and said, "Well, that was quite a scene. Proud of yourself?"

"Extremely." Jack raised his mug in a mocking salute.

"I do not have to stand for this. I am here as a favor to you!"

"No, you're here as a favor to the rest of the board. They want me to prove myself on this tripbut I don't _need_ to prove myself, to them or anyone. Everyone else had better get used to _me_."

Mr. Dawes clearly didn't like that at all, but all he said was, "Don't be late for your morning appointments. A night in jail is not the sort of excuse one uses in polite company."

"Noted," Jack answered.

Mr. Dawes turned and strode out. Doubtlessly, Nathan decided, back to a section of the town that was less crowded. "You gonna be in trouble for that?" he asked.

Jack shrugged. "He'll probably give me an earful the whole way back to California. The board sent him to keep an eye on me... Keep me out of trouble."

"What a success that's been," Nathan said dryly. "So what kinda meetings you got?"

"A lot of oil men are in town. The board is _hoping_ I'll hit it off with all of them; I ain't been to school, but the one thing I'm good at is charming people." He gave Nathan a raised eyebrow and Nathan gave him a wry smile in return. Jack Kelly had always been charming. "And I think he's hoping that one of them will offer to take me under his wingshow me the ropes of the business for a year or two. It gets me out of California Oil's hair for awhile, and they'd like to think I'd come back a respectable businessman."

"You planning to do that?"

"Maybe." Jack shrugged. "But to tell you the truth, Nathan, sometimes I think respectable is a dirty word."

*

Sarah was glad her family was close, but honestly, she was going to kill her mother. Esther would not stop hovering, pestering her about why she wasn't wearing that other, nicer dress, telling her she'd made her face up too strongly (and after she washed it off and redid it, that she'd not made it up _correctly_), how she should do her hair, whether her hem was straight...

When someone knocked on the door of the room she was dressing in, Sarah let out a sigh of relief and called for the knocker to enter, not caring who it was. Though she was a little surprised when Adelaide, clad in a fairly conservative, pale pink dress poked herhishead in. His wig was the long blonde one, and styled tastefully; it was obvious Adelaide wasn't trying to grab attention, just walk around.

Walk around. In a dress. Sarah gave him an amused smile and said, "Miss Adelaide, hello. Come on in."

"Who is this, Sarah?" her mother asked suspiciously.

"A friend of David's, Mother," Sarah answered.

"Oh!" Her face lit up, as if the notion that David actually spoke to someone of the female gender made her day. Which it probably did. Sarah bit down a smirk at the thought of what her mother _didn't_ know about Adelaide and David.

"I just came to pay my respects," Adelaide said, his voice high and girlish. Sarah was actually very impressed that Thomas was able to carry his stage act into real life so well; on stage, Adelaide had seemed a bit over-the-top, but here he was calm and quiet.

"You're welcome to stay," Sarah said, "but I haven't changed my mind about Nathan."

"I have," Adelaide said softly.

Sarah blinked in surprise, then said, "Mother, could you please go check on Ari? I... Need to know he's there."

"Of course, dear." She let herself out, and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. It probably would have been a more blatant excuse to ask her to leave if she hadn't been left at the altar once already.

Sarah looked at Adelaide, who was staring away, at a window. "I'm sorry, Sarah, I didn't come here toI just don't know many people anymore."

"No, please," Sarah said. Something about Adelaide fascinated her; his relationship with Nathan was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. He still looked nervous, hesitant, so Sarah gestured to the table in front of the mirror, where her rouge was still sitting and said, "Maybe you can help me with my face while we chat. My mother... Well, she's got notions. Which are rather old-fashioned."

"Pinching your cheeks for that more natural red?" Adelaide suggested, and gestured her to the chair. "I have a _little_ experience. And hairif you'd like the help."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "You are a godsend, Adelaide."

He smiled modestly. "My pleasure. And congratulations, SarahI know we haven't been in touch until recently, but David speaks of you often. He's so pleased for you."

"He's pleased I've found a man who wants me for what I am," Sarah interpreted. "Slightly sullied and sharp-tongued. Ari loves me, regardless." She smiled, even as Adelaide began to dab the makeup off her face with a damp towel, presumably so he could then redo it.

"Believe me, you are _hardly_ sullied, my dear. You haven't met many of the ladies I work with. Your virtue, by comparison, is unquestionable."

"Now that's a perspective I hadn't considered." She clasped her hands together in her lap. "So what happened between you and Nathan?"

Adelaide turned away to reach for the rouge and put down the cloth. "I ended it last night. Oh, darlingthe dress. You ought to wear the nicer one. I'll tell you the truth; Nathan and Nicholas don't have a dollar between them, most of the time. It was my present, Sarah. Their good intentions, but my money."

Sarah hesitated, then sighed. "Well. I suppose only a fool would give up that kind of a deal." She glanced at a clock, realized David wasn't due for over an hour yet (and they wouldn't be starting without him) and decided, "There's certainly enough time to have someone go get it. One moment." She strode over to the door, opened it, and called for her mother, who was more than happy to find someone to go get the dress. After all, no one had understood why she'd refused to wear it in the first place; she hadn't really found a way to explain what had happened with David and Jack and Nathan. With her mother sent off to take care of things, she turned back to Adelaide. "Now... About Nathan?" she prompted.

"Well, you know, I hope," Adelaide answered. "From... From what David's said, you aren't alwaysor oftenthe one to get left."

Sarah considered. True enough. "But in my case," she said, "there were plenty of men looking for a good timeand no one wants to marry a good time; people want to marry a good _girl_."

"You think I'm that different?" Adelaide sighed. He picked up a brush and began working the aborted style attempt out of Sarah's hair. "I was Nathan's good timeand a ready source of money. And it isn't like I asked for a lot in return! Just for..." He trailed off. "He _said_ he loves me. But anyone can say it. Doesn't make it true."

"Oh," Sarah said. "I'm sorry."

Adelaide shrugged and began working on restyling Sarah's hair. "It's just pathetic how long it took me to come to terms with it, is all. I had to see him behind barsasking for money, of courseto realize."

"It's not pathetic," Sarah assured him quickly. "Lots of people... I mean, you meet someone, and you think he's amazing. And you don't want to see anything else... If Jack hadn't run off..." She glanced up at Adelaide. "If he hadn't run off, I'd be miserable. The idea I had of him was perfect, but no one is really perfect. Least of all Jack. At least no one expected you and Nathan to get married. At least you had the _option_ to leave him."

"You say that like it's a good thing," Adelaide murmured. "Honest to godI love him, Sarah, and if I thought... If we could have been normal, you know, if I'd been an _actual_ woman... I'd have married him. In a heartbeat, I'd marry that man." He straightened up and took a deep breath, dabbed at his eye for a moment and finally said, "My eyes are going to run, oh, damn..."

"You're welcome to use anything here," Sarah said, nodding towards the jumble of powder tins on the table. "But, Adelaide, what...?"

"It's the worst part of this whole mess, honey. I may have walked away, and I'm sure it was the right thing to do...but god help me, I _love_ him."


	18. Sit Down, You're Rocking the Boat

The odd thing was, for all of the planning, the problem-solving, the list-making, the brainstorming... for all of that, David had never actually pictured the library opening going off without a hitch. He was certain something would come up, that some crisis would ruin everything. And it would happen in front of President Taftand the millionaires who'd helped make the library a reality. So he'd braced himself for disaster, imagining a million worst-case scenarios and how to stop them midstream.

And yet it happened almost perfectly. President Taft arrived on time, along with Governor Dix; Mayor Gaynor was running late from his lunch appointment, but had sent word he'd be there shortly. Things had started nearly on time, as guests arrived, gathered in front of the building. It was a splendid chance for photos; all of New York's highest society and most influential families were there. And, David mused, if he hadn't once walked angrily into Joseph Pultizer's office making demands, he'd have been very intimidated. It was rather hard to be intimidated by anything, with that as a point of reference.

So he shook hands with people he'd barely ever imagined meeting, and stood behind and to the side of President Taft as he stood atop the stairs in front of the library and orated. Finally Taft gave the motion to waiting assistants to pull back the tarps over the statues, revealing Edward Potter's geniusthe two matched lion statues that would forever stand guard outside the library, proudly named Leo Astor and Leo Lux, after the library's two most generous contributors.

The crowd gasped and cameras from dozens of papers flashed. David could picture the front pages: the lions, the President, and above-the-fold text. The headline would, of course, be dullbut the President's presence would sell it, regardless.

After the whole group finally made it inside to admire the books and the architecture. The gasps all echoed, and David flushed with pleasure. The architecturethat had been done long before he'd even considered applying to the library, but the books were all his. For over a year, he'd been buying, unpacking, cataloging, organizing... Thousands upon thousands of books, the collected work of hundreds of generations, were stacked in this library. And he'd made it happen.

Inside, everyone diligently sat in their seats, and President Taft resumed his Master of Ceremonies duty. There were several other speakers, mostly praising the generous donations that had made this the greatest library in the world. And then, finally, it was time for David's speechthe one he'd been working on for months, the climax and grand finale of the ceremony.

He drank half a glass of water before stepping up to the podium. He cleared his throat, glanced at the papers in front of him, and began to speak. He was so worried about making his voice carry that he forgot to worry about stuttering or stammeringthough he'd also been reading this speech aloud to himself in front of his mirror for the last two weeks. He spoke for quite some time: he spoke about how the lions, and how strength had once made them King of the Jungle, but now knowledge would be the kingmaker. He spoke about his own education, and how he'd learned from his parents, learned in school, learned on the streetsand how a collection of knowledge as vast and free as this one would only make learning easier, more accessible, for people like him, who'd had the drive to better themselves and were only looking for the means. And he spoke about the new library's systems, of how its knowledge was catalogued and organized in such a way that it would make it infinitely easier to find what you sought.

It concluded to applause, and he was almost surprised when he ran out of words. But President Taft shook his hand and declared the ceremony over, the library open, and suggested that perhaps the delicious snacks they'd had catered might be appropriate.

David found himself wandering through the crowd, getting his hand shaken, matching famous names up with real people. It was actually a little unrealthe most influential person he'd ever met had been Pulitzer, and that had hardly been on good terms. But these people were accepting him, congratulating him. And even inviting him over for dinner, suggesting he ought to join them for outings. The idea that he might be welcome in their oh-so-exclusive circles was not one he'd ever contemplated.

Overwhelmed but pleased, he did remember to keep his eye on the time. He absolutely had to be at Sarah's wedding on time, even if it required excusing himself from the library a bit early. After all, given the disaster of her _last_ wedding, he felt obligated to make sure this one went perfectly.

He was pulled out of his euphoric reverie by the voice of Mayor Gaynor, which was unnaturally gravellythe mayor had, after all, survived a bullet to the throat early in his term. "Mr. Jacobs!"

"Mayor Gaynor," David answered, pleased to meet him at last.

"That was a mighty fine speech, son. You're a credit to this city."

David smiled. "I'm just glad to be a part of it."

The Mayor glanced around. "AhI brought an extra friend with me today, I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," David said. He'd actually planned for it, given the number of times the mayor had changed the number of people he planned to bring.

"We'd just been having lunch together, you see. He's a fascinating young gentleman from Californiaan oil man. You must meet him, where... Ah!"

The words sunk in even before Mayor Gaynor picked Jack out of the crowd. At least the warning gave David enough time to brace himself. And sure enough, moments later Gaynor was gesturing over Jack, who was dressed up for the occasionthough his hair was, as always, slightly too long.

"Mr. Jacobs, this is my new acquaintance, Mr. Jack Kelly of Standard Oil of California. When I mentioned the library to him, he was so excited, he just _had_ to see the opening."

Jack was smiling politely and held out his hand. "That was quite some speech...Mr. Jacobs."

"Thanks," David said shortly, then, remembering he did want to make a good impression on the mayor, said, "Actually, Mayor Gaynor, Mr. Kelly and I have known each other for quite some time."

"Is that so?"

"Sure is," Jack said, dropping his hand only to casually sling an arm around David instead. David stiffened at the gesture, but if Jack noticed, he didn't care. "Mr. Jacobs and meIused to sell newspapers together, as a matter of fact. And look at us now."

"Well!" Gaynor said enthusiastically. "Imagine that! So inspiring, how far you two have come. Have you considered writing your memoirs?"

Jack smiled. "Nah, not me. All I did was get lucky. DaMr. Jacobs, here, though, he did it the old-fashioned way, with hard work."

David smiled politely, but finally managed to pull away from Jack. "Whythanks," he said, trying to force his voice to sound less annoyed than he felt. "But I think I'm more qualified to catalogue books than to write them."

"Nonsense!" the mayor declared.

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "I mean, as long as I've known you, David, you've been able to do anything you put your mind to."

David managed not to scowl. Instead, he said, "Pardon me, Mayor, but would you mind if Mr. Kelly and I caught up for a bit? We haven't seen each other in quite some time." He shot Jack an angry look. "Ten years, in fact."

"Oh, of course, of course," Gaynor agreed. "So glad to have brought you back together, then!"

"Yeah," Jack said. "Me, too."

The Mayor started off to talk to another acquaintanceDavid assumed he knew just about everyone at the ceremonyand left them alone. Or as alone as they could be, in the midst of the crowd.

"What are you _doing_ here?" David hissed.

"I had to talk to you," Jack said simply. "And I wanted to see this place... You spent so much time on it, and I wanted to see your speech. Which was great, Dave. You're...great."

David took a deep breath. "Please leave," he said.

"Yeah, I... In a minute," Jack said. "And tomorrow, I'm leaving for good. But Dave, I need toI need to talk to you, please. In private."

David glanced around at the crowd, and finally said, "If I give you five minutes to talk, will you leave?"

"In private," Jack repeated.

"Fine. Here." David strode purposefully to his office; it was away from the crowd and the din. Jack stepped in and David followed him, and shut the door behind them. Hand still on the knob, he turned and looked expectantly at Jack, who was staring nervously around the room. Not that there was much to see; while the room itself was a nice corner office with large windows, but David was modest enough that, aside from a large oak desk, he hadn't asked the library for the lavish furnishings he knew they would have expected. "Well?" David finally demanded, when Jack didn't say anything. "What the hell is so important?"

"I love you," Jack blurted quickly.

It hung in the air between them for a moment. Jack shut his mouth with an audible snap of teeth against teeth, and his eyes went wide as if he wasn't sure what he'd just said. And David just stared back at him, not quite sure what he was hearing, and finally he managed, "What?"

"I... love you," Jack repeated softly, now looking up at David, looking him in the eyes. He looked open, and earnest. And vulnerable. And David was abruptly aware that they were standing very close together, very nearly toe-to-toe. He shuffled back, away, but had only inches to go before his back hit the door. He dropped his hand from the knob finally, and felt almost off-balance.

He didn't mean to reach for Jack, but he felt his fingers on Jack's sleeve, and glanced at his hand, pale against Jack's suit, then looked up, and Jack was leaning towards him, and then somehow their lips were pressed together and as the words Jack had said finally resolved into a phrase that made sense to David, so did a lot of other things.

Jack's lips were warm and he tasted like smoke. His mouth was open and David could feel Jack's tongue, awkward in his mouth, but not uncomfortable. And he felt Jack's hands suddenly on his shoulders, and felt the door at his back, and Jack at his front and Jack's hair on his neck and Jack's eyelashes against his cheek.

And so many things became clear. Things David had been carefully not thinking about for over a decade, shadows at the back of his mind finally resolved themselves into real images, emotions. Want and lust andmore. Completion. The feeling of being whole, the realization that something_this_had been missing for a very long time.

Jack suddenly made sense, too. Thousands of tiny gestures and huge lies fell into place, because if Jack loved him...if Jack loved him, of course he couldn't have married Sarah. But if Jack loved him, he shouldn't have _left_.

David released his grip on Jack's arm, pushed him ever so slightly away. Jack stumbled back several steps, blinking, as if he'd just realized some things himself.

And finally, Jack said, "II didn't know how to say it. I been trying to figure it out since I was seventeen. I was justjust afraid. I thought you'd hate me or something, I don't know, and then I got involved with Sarah just to be near you and II had to go, David, I had to. But I love you, I always loved you."

David knew without asking that it was the truth. But it wasn't enough, because Jack had proposed to Sarah and then left her, and he had stolen their money, and he had lied so many times. It was a reason, and a good one, but it couldn't fix things. Nothing could, not really.

When David didn't say anything, Jack continued. "I never figured that...I never expected..." He took a breath and cleared his throat. "I came to tell you that. And that II _need_ you. I got you a train ticket." As he spoke, he reached into his breast pocket and produced a slim envelope. "I don't expect you to use it, really, I just want to know that you have it, that you can come... That I'll always be waiting for you." He set the envelope on the desk.

Their eyes met again, but neither one moved. David wasn't sure he _could_ move; he could barely even think. He felt numb, really, in shock.

"You gonna say _anything_?" Jack finally asked him.

"What can I possibly say?" David answered, which felt honest.

Jack shut his eyes for a second, heaved a deep breath, and finally said, "I guess that's... That's it, then." He started for the door and David stepped away from it, but before he opened it, he paused. "Well, at least this time I can say goodbye." He squared his shoulders. "I won't bother you again. But youthe train ticket. Please think about it, David." Another deep breath. "Goodbye."

He shut the door after himself and David stumbled to the chair behind his desk and collapsed into it. He had to leave soon to get to the wedding, and he was sure his absence at the reception was noticeable, but he definitely wasn't ready to face the rest of the world yet.


	19. Marry the Man Today

Sarah had only just finished changing into the nicer dress when Nathan came knocking. She wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten in, since he wasn't invited and it wasn't exactly traditional to let strange men in to see the bride. But she answered the door unthinkingly and found him holding his hat in his hand.

"What do you want?" she asked crisply, then shook her head. "No, never mind -- I don't care. You are not welcome here; please leave, or I'll scream until someone removes you."

Nathan all but winced when she said that, but answered, "Miss Sarah, please. I know Thomas -- Adelaide is here. I need to speak with him."

"I don't see any reason why _he_ should wish to speak with _you_," she answered. But Adelaide stepped up behind her, saw Nathan, and made a disdainful noise.

 

"Can I at least give him this?" Nathan asked. He held up a thick envelope.

Sarah glanced back at Adelaide, who shrugged, so she reached forward and accepted it. She passed it back to Adelaide and waited curiously, then heard, "Oh. Oh, my." At her questioning glance, Adelaide said, "It's the money he owes me. It's... _all_ the money he owes me."

Nathan cleared his voice. "Yeah. I decided -- I decided it was better to be in debt to Jack, who can afford it, than to you, who I...love." He paused. "Please, I just -- for a minute?"

Sarah glanced at Adelaide again, and Adelaide hesitated, then nodded, so Sarah stood aside. Nathan stepped into the room awkwardly, and neither Sarah's nor Adelaide's gaze was especially kind or forgiving. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Nick told me where to find you," he started.

"Ah," Adelaide said. "I didn't think you'd especially care to come look for me."

"Of course I -- of _course_ I did, Adelaide," Nathan said. "I mean, everything I owed you..."

"Yes, well. We're square now, so you can feel free to remove yourself from my presence. This is a wedding, a joyous occasion, and I don't think Miss Sarah needs a two-bit gambler around, mucking up her day. And since I have nothing more to say to you, well."

Nathan nodded. "Yeah, I'll -- I'll go in just a minute. I'm not here to cause trouble. I just needed to... To pay up. And tell you something." Adelaide made no response, and Nathan continued quickly, "Look, the way I see it -- the way I see it is, now I'm paid up. I don't owe you money anymore, right?" A nod. "And I'm fired; I'm not asking for my job back. I'm not...not asking for anything, Adelaide, except time."

"Time?" Adelaide repeated skeptically.

Nathan nodded. "You certainly don't owe me any, god knows. But... Time. With you. To prove to you that I -- love you."

"Hmph," Adelaide scoffed. "Easy to say."

"But don't it mean _something_ that I'm here -- I'm begging?" Nathan pleaded. "I've paid you back; I never should have been in your debt to begin with. I took advantage of you, I know I did, but I'm done with that now. Really, I'm -- I'm here because I want to make that all up to you."

Adelaide sighed. "Nathan, I know you're sorry, but I can't -- I just _can't_ do this anymore. I love you, but every nasty word you say hurts, and you weren't saying them because of the debt."

Nathan fell silent for a long minute, and Adelaide began to study his nails, as if searching out some tiny imperfection. Sarah retreated to the edge of the room to watch in silent fascination.

Finally, Nathan said, "That's...true."

"I'm aware it is," Adelaide snapped.

"But some of it was the debt," he pressed on. "I mean, it was -- it was about pride. Mine. I thought about what you said yesterday, what you called me, and it killed me because you were right. I been mad at you for doing better than me, and -- and wearing high heels at the same time. That ain't exactly easy for a man to take!"

"All I did was _help_!" Adelaide protested. "I tried to help, and you threw it back in my face!"

"I know," Nathan groaned. "I...I know that. It's just hard. Everything's hard. You and me -- being what we are, Tom. It's hard, and even you gotta admit, you don't make it any easier."

"What, because I wear a dress?"

"Yes, because you wear a dress! Okay, because you wear a dress and you walk around like it don't matter and it ain't weird, and it is. Even _you_ must know that. Maybe it ain't how you feel, but you -- you're one of a kind, Thomas. And I love you for it. But it ain't normal."

"I am what I am," Adelaide answered with an edge of fierceness in his voice, even as feminine as it was. "I know the rest of the world thinks it's better than me, well, I don't give a damn. I don't think _anyone_ out there's any better than me. I'm not going to hide."

"I know," Nathan said. "But it ain't as easy for me. But I...I like being with you, because you make me feel... Just, brave."

"Brave?" Adelaide repeated skeptically.

"Yeah. Brave. Maybe you ain't normal, and maybe I been ashamed of it sometimes, but when I see you I think -- I think, I don't care what no one thinks, no one, 'cause I don't care as long as I've got you. Dress or pants, you're all I want."

"That's not quite what I recall," Adelaide snapped.

"What? I never..." He trailed off. "You don't mean..."

Sarah watched understanding come to Nathan's features as his eyes widened in genuine surprise.

"Thomas! That ain't fair! Tell me you ain't serious, please."

Adelaide raised an eyebrow and glanced at Sarah. Nathan stared at her, too. Sarah tried to be invisible; she didn't want to interrupt.

"You think I want -- him and me -- oh, no. No, no, Adelaide," Nathan said quickly. "I made a mistake. I was a kid, and he was -- you know what he's like -- and it was stupid."

"But you left me for him," Adelaide answered. "And you only came back when he made it obvious he wasn't interested anymore."

"It was a _long time_ ago!" Nathan half-yelled, obviously frustrated. "You oughtta know better than anyone I've hated him since..." He trailed off, with another guilty look at Sarah.

"No," Adelaide said. "I know better than anyone that you only hated him that much because of how hurt you were when he moved on. And I was a decent consolation prize, someone you could use, but to _this day_ the way you're mad at him, you can't say you don't feel _something_ for him!"

"No, I don't. I mean, of course I did -- _did_, back _then_. You know what he's like! He makes it so easy to -- to just -- to adore him, and I think he doesn't even mean to. Everyone was half in love with him. Even you."

Adelaide looked away.

"But I was just a kid, and maybe I thought I loved him, but I didn't know what love was," Nathan pressed on. "I thought it was all -- flash, shallow. But it's not. It's every day, and it's wanting to be with a man even if you know..." He took a deep breath. "Even if you know you're going to fight sometimes, because it's just how you are. And it's wanting to be with a man so much you'll swallow your pride and be honest." Another breath. "It's never gonna be easy to know you been with other men, or to walk down the street with you wearing a dress. But I don't care if it's hard. You make me brave, I want to be with _you_, Thomas Ballatt, forever."

Adelaide started to speak, stopped, started to stand, stopped, and finally folded his hands in his lap and sighed deeply. "I want to believe you, Nathan. I just... How can I? After everything, _how_?"

"I'll do anything," Nathan said. He moved closer, and finally dropped to kneel by the chair. He took Adelaide's hands in his own and repeated, "Anything. Just tell me what to do."

"I don't know," Adelaide answered, but didn't pull away. "I want -- Nathan -- I just don't know."

"Well if you're done pretending I'm too stupid to realize you were discussing Jack just now," Sarah put in, "I may have an idea."

*

David wandered into the synagogue almost in a daze. He hurried to where he knew Ari would be, waiting with the other men in the ceremony, barely nodding and greeting the people he ran into along the way. And he found Ari, Nathan, and Les tucked into a room together.

"David!" Les greeted him. "Congratulations! How was the library?"

"Huh?" David said, trying to clear his head.

"Library?" Les repeated. "That big building with all the books, where you spend most of your time."

David chuckled a little to cover his discomfort. "It was -- fine. I mean, great, actually. No crises! I met President Taft, he shook my hand. The mayor brought an extra guest, but..." He trailed off.

"Great," Les said. "Yeah, we've got some extras here, too."

David regarded Nathan, who was pacing madly, wearing an ill-fitting tuxedo. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Nathan looked over and answered, sounding sort of strangled, "Getting married."

To which David rationally responded, "To whom?"

"Adelaide," he answered.

David blinked. "Oh."

Nathan cleared his throat. "I'm...sorry, by the way. About everything, you know, the last couple days."

David nodded. He was still so overwhelmed by Jack that he barely remembered that his anger at Nathan. So he just said, "Oh, it's -- it's fine."

"Are you okay?" Les asked suspiciously.

David nodded. "Just... A little overwhelmed after the opening, is all."

"Ahhh," Les said. "I guess that makes sense." He sounded mildly suspicious, but finally said, "Have you told Sarah you're here?"

"Not yet," he said. "I should go do that."

"She and Adelaide are down the hall," Les said, then paused. "David, don't take this the wrong way, but you keep some _very_ odd company."

"You don't know the half of it," Ari mumbled, as David left the room to hurry to where his sister waited.

Sarah let him in to the room she and Adelaide had appropriated, and for a second David had to gape. Adelaide was wearing a dress he was almost entirely certain was designed for a stage number -- and thus to be entirely detachable. It had a campy, theater look to it, and Adelaide's makeup was rather heavy and overdone. He looked a little scandalous...And that was without taking into consideration that he was a man in a dress.

"David!" Sarah said cheerily, and kissed his cheek. "Tell us all about it."

"About what?"

"The library," she said, and glanced at Adelaide. "What else?"

"Nothing!" he said. "Nothing else, I just -- I'm a little startled. Adelaide, you...?"

"Yes, well, Sarah was kind enough to offer to share her wedding, the rabbi was kind enough to agree to marry us, and Nathan was kind enough to propose."

"So you can be an honest woman at last?" David laughed a little. "And did you mention to the rabbi that you're _not_ a woman?"

"No. I also didn't mention we're not Jewish. What he doesn't know won't hurt us."

"Ah." David smiled bemusedly. "That makes perfect sense."

It was funny, though. Adelaide and Nathan getting married -- in public, no less. The same day that Jack... He and Jack...

"David, are you all right?" Sarah asked, her voice slightly concerned. "You look pale and... Here, sit down."

He followed her instructions and sat, though the feeling of Jack was somehow still all around him.

"Did something happen at the library, David? You seem...not entirely with us," Sarah continued cautiously.

"I..." He looked up at Sarah and finally sighed. "Jack was at the opening. With the mayor."

Sarah and Adelaide exchanged looks. Sarah sat down next to David and said, "What happened?"

"He just wanted to talk to me." David sighed. "He gave me a train ticket and," he hesitated for a second, then finished, "offered me a job with his company in California."

"Oh. My," Sarah said.

"What did you tell him?" Adelaide asked.

David couldn't tell them _nothing_, which was all he'd really managed to say to Jack; but then, it wasn't about the job anyway. The job was Jack's cover for just... _wanting_ him. Wanting to be with him. Something David had never, ever imagined. But aloud, he said, "Well, no. Of course I told him no. It's _Jack_."

"David, when it comes to you and Jack, you using your better senses is never a sure thing," Sarah told him.

David flushed a tiny bit, knowing she was right. But he shook his head and said, "I know, Jack's Jack and all, but I'm not stupid and I'm not crazy."

"No?" Sarah said. "What job did he offer you?"

"A partnership," David said wryly. "Or something like it."

"A partnership," she repeated incredulously. "In Standard Oil of California? And you _turned that down_?"

"Of course I did! It's Jack. Of all people, Sarah, you know why I couldn't take it!"

"No," she snapped. "I know why I couldn't take it. Jack left because of me, David. He never wanted to leave you."

"I can't say yes because of you," David returned. "You're my sister. I could never..."

"Did you want to?" she asked.

He stared.

"I thought so," she answered, satisfied.

"I don't," David said, but it sounded weak, even to him. "I can't, and I shouldn't, anyway," he continued, as if that strengthened it. "I have a job here, a _good_ job. That I love. And friends, and my family, and my apartment. And Jack's just... not reliable. It was you he left, maybe, but he still left."

"Those are excuses, not reasons," Sarah answered. "And so help me, David... If California -- if _Jack_ is what you want and you use me as an excuse to not go after him, I will never speak to you again."

"You don't understand," David mumbled.

"I do, better than you think." She looked him in the eye, and he looked away first, realizing she understood better than he'd thought. He flushed a little. "David, I know you. And I know what you were like when you and Jack were... Friends. And you've never been happier. And -- David -- I know Jack wouldn't have made me that happy, not year after year; but I know that Ari will. I can't forgive Jack, but I'm glad I'm not married to him. I'm happy now."

He stared at her, looking beautiful in her bridal gown; he saw the concerned understanding on her face. She put a hand gently on his arm.

"I'm _happy_," she repeated. "And you deserve to be happy, too."

*

Years later, most people who'd been at the wedding remembered that what would have been a simple, lovely ceremony took a turn for the decidedly odd with the second couple. There was something not quite right about them, and not just because it sounded like Nathan had memorized the Hebrew phonetically in ten minutes before the ceremony. He and Adelaide made an odd pair; she was slightly taller and certainly broader-shouldered than he was. And the way they looked at each other was almost embarrassing. It was obvious from the way they spoke their vows that they loved each other, but it was also obvious from the way they kissed that love wasn't the only thing on their minds.

After everyone left the synagogue, Nathan and Adelaide were nowhere to be found at the reception. No one seemed to know where they had disappeared to, but Sarah and Ari -- the normal couple, who had kissed demurely and sweetly, like normal couples were meant to -- told everyone that it was fine and they didn't mind that any more than they'd minded sharing the ceremony to begin with.

Everyone remembered the crowd hoisting the bride and groom up and dancing around them. Ari stomped on what had been an expensive glass and everyone cheered. And of course Sarah's mother cried, so thrilled that her only daughter had finally shed the pain of her first love and shed her reputation with it, getting married at last.

But a few of the more observant wedding-goers also remembered seeing one of Sarah's brothers sitting off by himself, staring at his glass of wine as if it held the answer to some great, unspoken question.


	20. Finale

David left for work with a spring in his step, surprising even himself. It was a beautiful, sunny morning out, the library would be open to the public for the first time, and the dedication had almost definitely made it on to the front page. His sister was happy, his friends were happy, and he was happy for them. Life was on the verge of returning to normal, which he was certainly looking forward to.

He stopped to buy a paper from his usual newsboy -- Scrap? Scamp? Something like that. A glance at the headline provided a mild letdown: there was something about a police bust above the fold, though President Taft in all his corpulent glory looked out from below. "Sorry, Mr. Jacobs," the boy said. "It's a great headline, though."

"Ah, well. Below the fold is still front page," David answered, and handed him the usual nickel, then hurried off towards work before the kid even bothered to lie about having change.

There were already people gawking at the statues outside the library when he arrived, almost an hour before the building opened. There was work to do, of course, but nearly everything was in place. He actually had a few minutes to relax, so he waved to the few other people inside preparing and headed to his office.

He had a moment of hesitation when he walked in, remembering the sight of Jack leaving, slouched and defeated. But he took a deep breath, dropped the paper on his desk, and pulled the curtains open. The sunlight dispelled the memories and his uncertainty. This was where he belonged, and it was better to be lonely on occasion than to put his faith in someone who had never been -- probably could never be -- reliable.

He settled at his desk to read his paper while it was still calm enough to do so. Any doubt that the library would be popular among even the common New Yorker had vanished when he'd seen the crowd outside, so this was likely his last chance for calm before it became a madhouse.

The newsboy was right, there was a fantastic headline: "Corrupt Cop Arrested in Gambling Ring Shootout, 3 Wounded." It would be more dramatic if someone had died, but David couldn't wish that on anyone, not even a dirty cop.

He only glanced at the article before looking down to see the story about the library, but something caught his eye and he looked again. There it was: "Walter 'Jonesy' Jones." And, "Lieutenant Leonard Brannigan."

He read in earnest: a tip had led Mayor Gaynor to have top detectives look into a possible corrupt cop -- Brannigan. David nodded along; he knew full well that Brannigan was at least taking bribes from Jonesy, if not actually helping him shake down competition. So someone had tipped off Gaynor, there had been a sting set up quickly -- before Brannigan could catch word of it -- and it had ended up with a shootout when the cops had come in to try and break up the gambling ring. Brannigan had been caught red-handed, and Jonesy was among the wounded. He awaited trail under a doctor's care, but since the other two serious injuries had come to cops, chances were good he was looking at jail for life. Same for Brannigan.

David actually found himself sighing with relief at the thought of Brannigan and Jonesy out of his hair -- and Nathan's and Adelaide's. Thank god someone had tipped off the Gaynor that Brannigan wasn't so trustworthy after all. Though the article didn't say who, since it was obviously hastily-written to try and get a sudden event in before the morning print deadline.

He reread the intro again and paused, reconsidering. No, the tipster wasn't left out because of the rush job; the source was anonymous. Or more specifically, it said, "an anonymous recent friend of the mayor."

_Anonymous recent friend._ Someone he'd just met, and someone who knew about Brannigan and Jonesy. David dropped the paper and buried his head in his hands.

Going after Jack was absolutely the wrong thing to do. David _knew_ that. Jack was utterly unreliable, and a liar besides. Except...

Except that David had always known that for all his mistakes, Jack would truly strive to set things right.

"Damn him," he muttered aloud, as he reached for the train ticket that still sat on his desk.

*

Jack slouched in his seat, pulled his hat down as far as it would go, and crossed his arms. The train would pull out in a matter of minutes, and the seat next to his was vacant. Not that he'd really, honestly expected David to show up, but damn it, after that kiss... There was no way David hadn't felt something. Jack was sure of that.

His confession had been too little, too late, he supposed. Ten years too late, at least. Jack knew he had no one to blame but himself, and that going to see David at the library had been a long shot at best. A small part of him was glad he'd gone anyway, relieved to finally have confronted the truth, but mostly he felt the emptiness of the seat next to him and knew he'd _always_ feel it. It may have taken him a decade to realize it, but David made him whole.

Since he'd been out west, he'd had the fantasy of reconciliation to help fill what lacked in his life. Now he had nothing but the memory of one single kiss and the look of shock on David's face. And while he'd remember that kiss until his dying day, he knew he'd never be able to think of it without aching for David.

He shut his eyes, figuring he could doze for a few hours before he needed to stretch his legs. Hopefully it would keep people from bothering him -- especially Mr. Dawes, who sat at the back of the train car and had given him a dirty look on his way past. He'd wander up to scold Jack soon enough, and probably help himself to the seat meant for David.

Now Jack was just depressing himself. He sighed.

"Hey, mister, buy a pape? Says here that the mayor got shot at a gambling den."

Jack snapped his head around so sharply his hat fell off.

David smirked down at him, holding out a copy of the hours-old morning edition.

Jack gaped.

"I think that's my seat?" David asked.

Jack nodded.

David sat, folded the paper, and glanced at him with eyebrows raised. "Never seen you speechless before," he noted.

"You're _here,"_ Jack managed.

"Against my better judgment, yes."

"David..."

"Hmm?"

Jack shrugged, wordless. He could only smile and reach for David's hand, a substitute for what he truly wanted, which was to pull David close, to kiss him for hours, to never let go. David looked down at their hands, cleared his throat, and pulled his away.

Jack's heart sank a little bit.

"This wasn't an easy choice," David finally said. "I have a life in New York, you know."

"I know," Jack said softly.

"And my job. You realize I won't even get to see my library in use? And I had to resign without even the decency of giving the rest of the Library Committee advance notice. _And_ my apartment -- it's lucky for you Les wanted somewhere larger with the baby coming, and that he was happy to take my place." He hesitated. "My mother is pretty thrilled to have Joseph in the apartment, but even so."

Jack nodded.

"I hardly had a chance to pack; I've got three suits, a nightshirt, and a pillow, and that's about it. My folks will have to ship me everything else I own. And I barely got to say goodbye to anyone. Which is actually important to _me."_

"David, I'm sorry," Jack said. "I didn't want this to -- No, that's not true." He started again: "I wanted you to come with me and I didn't think about how hard it would be for you. And I'm sorry it was hard but I'm grateful that you're here."

David gave him the ghost of a smile. "I appreciate the honesty."

The train began to pull away from the station. David clenched the armrest tightly, his knuckles going white. Jack brushed his hand against David's, hoping to offer some reassurance -- David had probably never even been out of the city before, and now he was heading all the way across the country.

And he was doing it for Jack.

"David... I... Thank you," Jack murmured. "I'm so grateful you're here. I can't even believe... I love you so much."

David glanced over at him but didn't say anything.

"Do you..." Jack trailed off. It was a stupid question. Obviously David felt something for him, or he wouldn't have come, and asking it sounded so desperate.

David made an amused noise and turned towards him. "You want to know how I feel?" he surmised. Jack nodded. "Well. Too bad, because I don't think I'm going to tell you. I'll leave you to wonder and worry and think I don't care, and assume that I showed up on the train because I was interested in taking a job. And I'm going to let you think that with no indication whatsoever that it might be wrong for, oh -- let's say ten years." David glowered. "And then maybe I'll be kind enough to turn your life upside down and tell you the truth."

"So you're still mad at me?"

"You figured that out?"

"But you're here," Jack said. "I'll wait as long as you want." He paused. "But I have a better idea, I think. A deal."

"Oh?" David raised an eyebrow.

"Mm. You tell me how you feel now, and I'll spend the rest of my life making up for the last ten years."

"Hmm." David tipped his head back and tapped a finger against the armrest, considering.

"And," Jack continued quickly, "I promise never to lie."

"Ha," David muttered, but he gave Jack a slightly less hesitant smile. "Keep going."

"Uh, okay. How about, once we get to my house, I promise that every Saturday, I'll bring you breakfast in bed? And wash the sheets to clean out any crumbs."

David chuckled. Jack's heartbeat sped up just hearing it.

"And, let's see, oh! My granddad has this cabin on a lake out in New Mexico, and it's beautiful. Every summer, I promise I'll take you out there, and it'll be just you and me for a few weeks. Or -- or we could travel. Anywhere in the world you want to go, I'll take you there."

"Hmm."

"And... I'll build you a library."

"With your own two hands?"

"If that's what you want," Jack said. "I'll pour the foundation and lay the bricks myself."

David laughed. "How could I turn that down? But I'm holding you to it."

"Building you a library brick-by-brick?"

"Never lying to me." David paused. _"And_ breakfast in bed."

"More than fair."

"You want to spit shake?" David laughed again. "Jack, it's going to be a long time before I can _really_ trust you, but... I love you. I want to take this risk and I want to be with you. Or I wouldn't be here."

Jack reached for David's hand again, and this time he didn't pull away -- David turned his hand so their fingers interlocked, and he smiled.

"Wish I could kiss you," Jack said quietly, leaning forward so he was closer to David.

"Don't worry," David said. "We'll have years for that."

Jack let that sink in and relaxed into his seat, David's hand still held in his own. He could feel David sink back in the seat next to him, taking a deep breath.

"So, California," David said eventually.

"Home," Jack said.

David squeezed his hand. "Home," he agreed.

**Fin.**


End file.
